


Built of Metal

by Ceia



Series: Committed to the Crime [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (in later chapters), Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Jesse McCree/Genji Shimada - Freeform, Junkrat has a dirty mouth and knows how to use it, Mercyrat, Relationship Problems, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 206,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: The London-based Overwatch team acquire three new agents on the cusp of an emerging omnic threat, and Angela feels like she’s the only one giving Junkrat a chance.





	1. Something Beautiful

In an age where the documentation for just about everything is digital, it’s a pleasant surprise when Angela opens the door to the postman delivering a wad of envelopes. She tucks them under her arm and takes her coffee upstairs to the office, opening up the windows before she gets started on today’s paperwork.

It’s sunny and warm, one of those rare July days in England where the weather actually matches the season. Angela will have to close the windows and pull down the blinds later on, when it’ll be too hot for any breeze to cool the temperature. For now, it’s much nicer to sit in front of her laptop with them open so she can look out over the sprawling English countryside. The view here is quite different from her usual posting in London, all rich greenery and rolling hills in the distance.

She phones Winston to let him know the paperwork has arrived, and opens the envelopes while her inbox springs to life.

“Yes, we have—let’s see. One for a Rutledge, a Correia dos Santos, and a Fawkes,” she says. There’s an OFFICIAL: SENSITIVE stamp on the top of each file—all the information is classified. “Looks like everything has arrived, Winston.”

“Thank goodness,” Winston says. “This’ll probably be the last batch of newbies for a while, so it’s good to know they’ve arrived already. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Of course. I’ll get started on them now.”

Angela puts the files aside, clicking through her inbox between sips of coffee. Nothing pressing has come through this morning, just the regular Monday morning comms from the team. This means she can start reviewing the profiles of Overwatch’s new recruits immediately, before she registers them on the system ready for physical exams later in the week.

The recruits are all male this time, one of them being a very familiar face. Lúcio’s profile is as charming as every piece of promotional media Angela has ever seen of him. It feels strange having to look through a celebrity’s medical and personal history like this, though she’s done it many times before when working in private healthcare. There isn’t much to write up as Lúcio is, aptly, medically sound, with his family history included in full. She expects he’ll make easy work of the physical exam. Angela signs off his documentation after about an hour of review, one of the easiest applications she’s processed.

Mako Rutledge is more of an unknown, though his profile is significantly less charming. Angela suspects his invitation has been very costly for Overwatch. The higher ups had warned the team that the new membership invites would be going to some ‘unusual but necessary’ combatants, and her eyes widen when she flips over to the page covering Mako’s insurance premium. Not that she’s in any position to judge, but as she thought, Overwatch is shelling out a lot of money to bring Mako on board.

Angela processes his application after a couple of hours. There’s a full medical and family history for him, with family—his mother—living in New Zealand. Looks like he’s spent the last couple of years as Fawkes’ personal bodyguard. Mako also appears to suffer badly with asthma, so Angela makes a note to ensure his inhaler is fit for purpose before signing him off. When she reaches for her half-finished coffee it’s cold and time for lunch, so she grabs her mug and Fawkes’ file and heads downstairs.

Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes. Angela thumbs through the pages. Much of the personal history is similar to Mako’s, with an insurance premium to match, and his criminal record is extensive. He appears to have spent most of his life in what remains of the Australian outback. Jamison has almost no family history, which is odd, and the whereabouts of his family are unknown. He also doesn’t have any proper medical records, which makes Angela frown. It’s as though Jamison hasn’t seen a doctor since the amputation of his right arm and leg when he was a teenager.

The page detailing Jamison’s cybernetics is similarly vague. There are no serial numbers, no recognisable parts listed… she guesses they’ve been made from prohibited materials and constructed in an unregulated environment. Angela wonders if he made them himself.

Knowing that her own cybernetics would dramatically improve Jamison’s quality of life, in addition to his survivability in combat, she makes an immediate note to arrange a cybernetic consultation with him.  This is what Angela specialises in, after all, and it’s her duty to test the waters of physical enhancement now that he’s under her care. At least she’ll be able to do so without having to make it an ultimatum, too. _Genji, we can fix your body, but… I can only treat you if you agree to join Overwatch._

Angela shakes away that memory and turns to the next page. While it’s hard to properly assess from the attached photos, the hunch Jamison is sporting may be more serious than just bad posture. The material on his arm must be too heavy for his shoulder to slope like that. He doesn’t even have a prosthetic foot on his right leg to keep himself balanced. Angela scribbles down that Jamison will require an x-ray, and he could really do with a proper leg, too.

Thank goodness the radiation poisoning will be easy to treat. Thank goodness for modern medicine, indeed.

Angela flips back to Jamison’s profile page, studying his photo. The Jamison looking up at her is a dishevelled looking man with a cutthroat smile. She's never visited Australia, but reading up on these two makes her think there is so much work out there that could be, and needs to, be done.

Angela puts Jamison’s file down and starts on lunch, chopping up vegetables for a feta salad on autopilot. She’s glad that Jamison is joining them. It could really change him for the better. Jesse is a perfect example of a wayward young man who found his purpose through Overwatch, and Angela thinks both Jamison and Mako could easily follow in his footsteps. Regardless of where their lives have taken them up until now, there is always time to choose a different path. Even if it is through Overwatch.  
  
When lunch is over it’s time to get back to work. Eager to type up her notes on Jamison’s profile, Angela heads back upstairs, where it feels thick with heat from the midday sun. She puts the desk fan on and reminds herself that at some point she must call out an engineer for the broken air conditioning units up here. It always slips her mind until it’s too hot, and then inevitably she’s called away to London again, and when she does call the engineers they only offer a day when she’s travelling, and the cycle begins anew. After all this, she must make it a priority.

There’s a new email in her inbox and a missed call on her phone—of course, it’s from Lena.  
  


 _To:_ _angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From: lena.oxton@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_Subject: DRINKS_

_Hey doc!!_

_So you’re doing the physicals on Friday right? I was thinking we should all go out for drinks afterwards as you’ll be in London again, break in the new recruits if they’re down for it. The Prince Regent is fancy (and close to the station for you too)! Hana wants to meet Lucio and we don’t even need to ask Jesse/Torb haha. Reinhardt will probably come too you know what he’s like!_  
  
_Let me know what you think!!! :)_

  
  
Not even two o’clock on Monday afternoon and Lena is already thinking about drinks on Friday. Angela is grinning as she types out her reply.

  
  
_To: lena.oxton@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From:_ _angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_Subject: RE: DRINKS_

_Sorry for missing your call Lena, some of us are busy working! ;)_

_Yes that sounds wonderful. I’m not sure if the Junkers will be particularly social, but somehow I don’t think they’ll be able to resist some ice cold beers in this weather…_

_The Prince Regent would be lovely. If I don’t see you around HQ before then, I’ll text you on Friday once the physicals are done._

  
  
Sure enough, just as Angela clicks away to complete Jamison’s registration, a popup appears with Lena’s reply.  
  
  
  
_You’re just not fast enough!!! Hehe okay see you on Friday then!_

  
  
Angela is excited now that there’s something to look forward to at the end of the week. When Jamison’s registration is all done she realises that she’s sweating—the windows have been open all this time, allowing the room to fill with hot, stuffy air. She closes them and ups the desk fan to its highest setting. If only these old country houses weren’t built to retain heat!

Unfortunately, the weather remains hot for the rest of the week. Angela works through the bulk of her remaining documentation over the next couple of days, which gives her Thursday to do some much-needed work on the house. Friday morning comes around and Angela has to rush to be outside on time for her taxi. The train into London should be a relaxing journey looking out over more beautiful countryside, but she’s flapped from a whirlwind morning of getting ready for an eventful day.

It’s hard to dress professionally when it’s going to be 33 degrees in the city. Angela feels uncomfortable in the pencil dress she eventually settled on this morning, having grown accustomed to lounging in tank tops and shorts at home. But the train is air conditioned and she’s relaxed by the time she gets off, ready to face the sweltering heat of the London underground before arriving at Headquarters.

Angela checks her watch after signing in at reception. Her first appointment, Jamison’s medical, starts at 9:30am. It’s already 9:02 and she needs to see Torbjörn before she gets settled in her office, as he’s been working on Caduceus for the last couple of weeks. Angela doesn’t rush herself, figuring Jamison is unlikely to arrive on time. She’s actually sort of anticipating him to be quite hard work, and while she hasn’t exactly been dreading his physical, she’s looking forward to getting it over with.

She shares the elevator with a few guys from security who need the third and fifth floors, and then has a little catch up with Torbjörn over in the engineering department, which is on the same floor as medical, thankfully. It’s 9:22 when Angela reaches medical, and she’s just getting her office keys out of her purse when she sees—

Oh. Jamison is here. He’s sitting alone in the waiting area reading a magazine, his prosthetic leg, if it can even be called that, crossed over his real one. Jamison is wearing shorts and a shirt, which look reasonably clean, but the rest of him is—unkempt. He looks considerably more relaxed than in any of the photos supplied in his file, though that might have something to do with the lack of explosives tied to him.

“Gosh, sorry I’m late,” Angela says breathlessly, surprised to see him here. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll call you right in.”

Jamison looks up from his magazine.  
  
“Late? Looks like you’re right on time to me, mate!”

Wow, that is one thick accent. Jamison is grinning at her, and suddenly Angela feels guilty for having doubted his punctuality. She manages a smile back at him before unlocking her office and rushing inside. It’s another whirlwind of logging into her desktop, turning the lights on and readying the medical equipment. They’re on a bit of a tight schedule today as she’s expecting the two Junkers to require more time for their physicals. Angela pulls on her labcoat and, just before opening the office door, runs her hands down over her dress to smooth it out. Despite the rushing around she still wants to look at least somewhat professional.

9:33. Angela jogs over to Jamison, offering him a hand and a smile in greeting. “Thank you so much for waiting, Jamison, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No problem doc, pleasure’s all mine!” Jamison chirps. He doesn’t stand up so much as lurches forward off the chair, and Angela can’t help jumping back a little at the juxtaposition of this threatening posture and cheerful voice. Gosh, even without a right foot, he’s tall.

Jamison proffers his human hand to her. His grip is firm and strong, and his eyes and features are sharp, sharpened even more by the razor cut of his smile. Even his hair is wild, shaped like flames on his head and singed at the tips. Jamison’s unsettling and rather sinister appearance totally contradicts his courtesy. “Haven’t been called Jamison since I was a kid, though—call me Junkrat!”

It’s uncommon for recruits to go by their call signs outside of battle, but Angela accepts this with a nod. Junkrat certainly suits him.  
  
“Of course. Well, Junkrat, I’m Angela, but you might already know me by my call sign?”

“Right, sure. Heard a lot about ya, Miss Mercy. Or, er—is that Missus Mercy?”

Angela laughs, slightly embarrassed. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  
  
“No, I’m just Miss. Come, let’s get started. We’ve got quite a few tests to run through.”

Jamison follows her into the office, the clicking of her heels dwarfed by the alternating clanks of his leg. Angela has him sit beside her and brings up his profile on her computer, and she becomes immediately aware of his twitchiness, the way his eyes dart around her office. The heat of his presence, which she’s guessing is a by-product of living through the outback’s irradiation. Luckily HQ is fully air-conditioned.

 “Okay, first things first—radiation poisoning,” she says. “I take it you’ve been on Neothyroshield?”

Australia quickly became the world’s number one importer of Neothyroshield after the omnium explosion, an advanced medicine capable of negating the lethality of radiation poisoning. Junkrat affirms her assumption, and it's a huge relief that he's somehow managed to maintain a decent dosage since the explosion. She writes out a 7 day prescription for NDTPA, a slightly different and more potent substance, to obliterate any lingering poison in his body.

“There’re a few questions I need to ask before we continue,” Angela says. “Do you smoke?”

“Only when I’m on fire!”

“Okay—no tobacco?”

“Nah, never. I do actually smoke when I’m on fire though, if that counts,” Junkrat says, and Angela can’t help smiling at how seriously he says it. Somehow she doesn’t doubt it, given how he looks.

She runs through the rest of the questions, discovering in the process that he likes drinking and considers himself ‘moderately’ active. It’s a negative on any family history though, and Junkrat seems uncommitted to the subject with the vague answers he provides, so Angela doesn’t push him. A small part of her wonders if it might be worth discussing at some point, but at the moment she isn’t anywhere near willing to poke around his personal history if he has nothing medically relevant to declare.

“Okay, we’ll do the usual checks for height, weight and blood pressure once we’ve taken some bloods,” she says. “Are you alright with needles?”

“Never met a bad one so I s'pose so,” Junkrat shrugs.

Angela is still smiling while she gets out the equipment.

“Were you waiting long?” she asks, holding his human arm while she studies it for a suitable vein. His skin feels dry but very warm beneath her fingers, and she can feel his eyes on her, watching. He doesn’t tense at all when the needle goes in.

“Pfft. If I’d been waiting you woulda known about it, believe me!” Junkrat says. “Patience isn’t… er. It’s not one of my specialities, put it that way.”

“You seem very patient to me right now,” Angela observes.

“Hah! I’m just on me best behaviour for you, doc. Plus I don’t know if I can trust ya, y’know, when you’ve got a needle in me arm like that.”

“I think you’re safe for now,” Angela says, amused. She presses a cotton wad firmly into the crook of his arm when she’s done. “Hold that for me please—make sure you press hard.”

Junkrat does as he’s told, tapping his foot and skittishly looking around while Angela busies herself putting the supplies away. At least she doesn’t have to feel self-conscious about the office; it’s cleaned more regularly than her office at home, but somehow she doesn’t think Junkrat would mind even if it was a mess.

While preparing the vials for testing, Angela can’t help casting a glance over her shoulder at him. She takes note of a few things—his eyes, the discolouration of his face, the slight curve of his back. It doesn’t seem nearly as pronounced as it did in his photos—Junkrat doesn’t have any weight on him after all—but she’s still concerned about the weight of his cybernetic arm and how it’s dragging his shoulder down.

Putting a plaster over the cotton wad, Angela instructs Junkrat to hop onto the scales. His weight is healthy accounting for the added weight of the prosthetics. Height, however, is an issue. Standing in front of her on the scales, Junkrat doesn't match his recorded height. He should be almost a full foot taller than her.

“Can you stand up straight as you can for me please?”

Even though he looks uncomfortably rigid doing so, Junkrat does as he’s told once again, standing on his human leg and straightening himself completely. His prosthetic leg is a few inches short of being able to support his full height. Angela isn’t happy about this, but she’s pleased to see that he’s capable of straightening his back. Sure enough he matches his recorded height. Junkrat absolutely towers above her.

Suddenly he wobbles, probably unused to standing on one foot for too long. Angela reaches for his arm as he grabs a fistful of her labcoat to steady himself.

“Careful,” she says softly, frowning at his poor balance—definitely due to the missing foot. Junkrat laughs as he steps off the scale, but he looks a bit flustered when he sits down again.

“Not used to doin’ that without a buncha shit on my back,” he says. Angela can see the embarrassment in his smile when he meets her eyes.

“Mm… Now that I’ve seen you, I think I’ll send you for an x-ray, just in case. With how tall you are we need to make sure your bone structure isn’t damaged from all those weights you carry around.” Notably, that huge tire she saw on some of the photos in his file.

“Damnit. You’re not gonna make me walk a tightrope or anything to get there, are ya?”  
  
“No, no, nothing like that. But you will have to lay very still during the x-ray,” Angela says. Junkrat hasn’t managed to sit still for a minute since he’s been here.

“Oof. That’s a bit of a tall order!” he says, and his lips pull into a huge grin. “…Get it? Tall order?”

“Ugh,” Angela says, though she’s grinning, too. “Yes, very good.”

She carries on with the tests. Junkrat’s blood pressure checks out, though it’s a little on the high side, and his blood CO2 levels are normal. His reflexes also come back strong, which Angela is surprised by, but it’s good. Everything is coming out better than she was expecting—even Junkrat himself, or at least, his behaviour. He hasn’t been hard work at all.

“Alright. Next up we need to check out those eyes of yours, as they’re looking very sore.”

“You’re a real sweet talker, ain’tcha, doc?” Junkrat bats his blond eyelashes in what he must assume is an alluring manner, making Angela chuckle. She pulls up the trolley for the optical equipment and sits close in front of him so she can study his eyes.

“Ah. This looks like a classic case of dry eye syndrome to me,” she says. Angela delicately guides his jaw so that he’s facing her. Junkrat’s pupils dilate a little when they meet hers. “Are they often dry and sore like this?”

 “Uh… I dunno,” Junkrat says, swallowing. “Maybe, I s'pose? Dunno.”

“Mmhm. Could you look to the left for me? Okay, and now the right?”

For a supposed criminal mastermind, Junkrat is very accommodating. He’s jigging his leg and tapping his thighs with his hands, which Angela suspects is a way of keeping his twitchiness at bay while he has to stay still.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Then I’ll give you a quick vision test.”

“Clean—uh, cleaned up?”

Angela brings out a pack of babywipes. Junkrat looks at her as though she’s just pulled a gun on him, the colour draining from his face. Ah, how convenient. Now she can see the extent of the dirt!

Junkrat cringes when she hands over the pack, and Angela watches him with her chin in her palm. He wrinkles his nose when he pulls out a couple of wipes and scrubs his face as quickly as he can, like having to clean himself is a huge inconvenience.

“Careful you don’t rub too hard,” Angela says, resisting the urge to grab his hand. When Junkrat’s gotten through a few sheets he looks a little flushed but considerably cleaner, and Angela notes lots of freckles and a few moles dotted over his face, contrasting against the newly exposed and very tanned skin there. She discards the wipes for him before grabbing something else from her desk – a small bottle.

“Medicated eyedrops,” she tells him, pressing it into his hand. “Start off applying a couple of drops to both eyes every hour, if you can, and then ease off after a day. I’ll get a prescription for some regular lubricating drops for you, which you’ll be able to apply as needed.”

Junkrat turns the bottle over in his hand, looking sceptical while he reads the label.

“Wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. He leans away from her and scratches his head, like he isn’t sure what to make of it. “Uh. Cheers, doc.”

Angela sits back too, mirroring Junkrat’s surprise. Gratitude? Already? Somehow she wasn’t expecting this from a notorious criminal on their first meeting, but once again it’s looking like her immediate assumption about Junkrat was wrong.

“You’re welcome,” she says, meaning it. She smiles at Junkrat before scolding him. “But you’ve got to keep your face cleaner, as all the debris of whatever you do will only encourage infection and more dryness!”

“Right, sure, gotcha,” Junkrat says, the words coming out on a laugh. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, so Angela takes the opportunity to ready the field of vision test for him. It takes him a few tries to get the medicated droplets into his eyes, but he manages, and after some intense blinking Angela is pleased to see some of the redness dissipate. Junkrat’s field of vision test comes back with yet more strong results, though his eye pressure, like his blood, is slightly higher than average. She prints off a prescription for more eye drops and returns to the medical checklist.

“We’re almost finished,” she says. “Let’s see… We need to check your lungs, so if you could lift up your shirt for me, please?”  
  
“Bit soon for that, ain’t it?” Junkrat says, waggling his eyebrows at her. Angela sighs, grinning despite herself.

“Somehow I didn’t have you down as the shy type. Would you like me to ask one of my male assistants to check instead?”

Junkrat waves her off. “Nah, you’re alright. I was only messing with ya.”

He proceeds to pull his shirt off entirely, and Angela’s eyes widen.

“This’ll make things easier,” he says, casually tossing it aside. As a doctor it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but his body is… Well. Not quite what she was expecting. Despite having a slender frame, Junkrat is very broad, very muscular, and very toned.

Angela presses the stethoscope against his back. The skin is the same here as his face—tanned and smeared with dirt, as though he spends his life either sunning himself on a beach or exploring the London underground. She moves, checking the different points on his back, listening carefully. Scars are scattered across it, and he has silvery tiger stripes along his hips from what must’ve been a big growth spurt during puberty. She can’t get over the warmth of his skin, sat here like he is in an air conditioned office without a shirt on.

Anyway, Junkrat’s lungs sound clear and healthy.

“Thank you,” Angela says, returning to her desk. Junkrat seems perfectly content to sit there without his shirt on while she types up her notes. When she’s done, she gives an airy, satisfied sigh.

“For someone who doesn’t seem to have seen a doctor in years, you’re in very good physical condition, Junkrat.”

“Sheesh, didn’t realise I was an antique,” he says, feigning offence. “You gonna give me a box and put me up for sale now that I’m medically certified?”  
  
“Well, you are sort of Overwatch’s property now,” Angela says. “Would it sound better if I called you a collector’s item?”

Junkrat drums his chin. “Hmmm… Yeah, alright, that’s better. I’ll take it.”

“Good.”

They grin at one another, and then Angela looks back to the checklist. He’s almost finished. While they wait for the results of his bloods to come back, though, there’s just one thing left to be addressed. Angela clasps her hands together.

“As impressed as I am by your health thus far, however, we have to discuss your cybernetics. Specifically ordering you some new ones.”

Junkrat blinks at her. “Order new ones?”  
  
“Once we have your measurements, we can start discussing what you want next week and have a new arm and leg made for you in August,” Angela says, smiling. “I’m happy to provide a replica of your arm if you’d prefer, but of course we would provide a full replacement for your le—”

“Woah, woah!” Junkrat interrupts her with a laugh. “Who said anything about me needing or wanting any new parts?”

“I mean, what you have already are functional, but they’re not… what we would offer,” she says, diplomatically.

Junkrat folds his arms over his bare chest and leans back, regarding her with a cynical look. “Just because they aren’t your cybernetics doesn’t mean they don’t work, doc.”

Angela takes a breath to reply, but the scowl on his face makes her swallow it down.

“Seems pretty clear to me that they work just fine,” he tells her. “I didn’t come here to get ‘fixed’, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It… Well.” Angela pauses. She hadn’t expected him to take this so personally. “I’m not at all saying we need to ‘fix’ you, Junkrat. It’s just that your records indicate that your prosthetics, as they are now, don’t meet our safety standards. My safety standards, I should say.”

Junkrat’s eyes narrow. She had a slight feeling he wouldn’t be immediately on board with something like this, though she supposes she could have broached the subject in a gentler manner. Angela tries again.

“Junkrat, you’re permanently several inches down on your right side. It’s going to have serious repercussions on your posture and spine. And your arm, the weight of it, I mean, is—a concern.”

“Right,” he says, clearly unimpressed by this. “So in other words, I’m not allowed in if I refuse to change my body.”

Angela holds his eyes for a moment, aware that the air between them is becoming hostile. She shakes her head.

“I’m not saying that. Nor am I going to force you into anything,” she says, gently. “If you really don’t want anything new, I at least need to have a look so I can sign you off.”

Junkrat puffs out a little laugh like he doesn’t believe her. “Yeah, alright.” He lunges forwards, extending his metal arm to her. “Go on then, have a look,” he says, the smile on his face unfriendly. “Can’t wait to hear what y’think.”

This abrupt change in him has taken Angela by surprise, though she supposes it shouldn’t. It’s disappointing because she thought he would be enthusiastic about new equipment—about being taken care of by a professional. But that isn’t going to be the case, so Angela clears her throat and holds Junkrat’s metal arm in her hands. Her touch is not invasive but gentle and observatory as she turns it over, spreads his fingers, watches the joints flex and shift beneath the chassis.

She can feel his eyes burning into her, watching. She imagines he’s been picked apart for many things over the years, which would explain his hostility with her. The outback is still nigh on inhospitable, and it can be easy to forget that with the innate friendliness of Junkrat's hearty accent. It may be a disappointment, but Angela should have expected this. Junkrat has probably never had a doctor to help him with any of this.

She asks him about a couple of things _. Is this a replica of the D240? Is the power source a solar-lithium hybrid?_ He answers her, still watching with cynical eyes, but there isn’t quite the same bite in his words. She asks if she can look at his leg, and when he grudgingly acquiesces, Angela treats it with the same gentle touch.

Actually, although the materials used definitely aren’t regulated, the construction is faultless. Even his leg accounts for the added weight on his right side thanks to a spring loaded suspension, which is quite impressive. It’s different, of course, everything put together in a far simpler way than the cybernetics Angela provides. And the missing height, the lack of a right foot, is still an issue. But Junkrat’s arm and leg do indeed work—they’re functional and well crafted.

“You made these yourself, didn’t you?” she asks him. Junkrat seems caught off guard by this, then remembers himself, puffing out his chest.

“Too right I did,” he tells her. “When you need to survive, you make do with whatever you can get.”

“You’ve done an excellent job,” she says, hoping that it sounds flattering rather than condescending. When she looks up at Junkrat the sharpness in his eyes has softened.

“I make everything m’self,” he says. “Haven’t had a choice.”

“I understand,” Angela says, quietly. She knows all too well what it’s like trying to survive on your own.

Quiet descends between them while she thinks. He’s clearly very skilled to have crafted these parts himself, and while she still knows he’ll be better off with new limbs, Angela thinks they are satisfactory for now. Feeling safe in the knowledge that she doesn’t have to give Junkrat any ultimatums, she smiles at him.

“Okay, how about this. Stay as you are. It’s important you get settled here after all. I’m more than happy to sign off your physical today, but… would you consider remaking your cybernetics at some point in the future, with me?”

Junkrat opens his mouth to say something, but Angela gestures to his shoulder, the one with the skull tattooed over it. “The functionality is fine but – the weight of it on your shoulder concerns me. And I worry about your balance, your posture. I understand you’re completely used to it and you know your body far better than I do, but if—I mean, say something happened to your leg in the middle of a fight. The enemy wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of that.”

Junkrat flexes his prosthetic arm, looks down at his leg like he’s thinking it over. He frowns at her.

“So you’re passing me, but it’s conditional?”

“None of this is conditional, I promise,” she says, and punctuates her words by reaching across and taking his metal hand into both of hers. Angela squeezes reassuringly, wondering if his technology is nuanced enough to feel it. Junkrat’s eyebrows arch up in surprise.

“All I’m asking is that you consider it,” she says, watching his face go a little red. “Your autonomy is important, and I fully respect that. But so is your health. It’s my responsibility to ensure you’re looked after for as long as you’re with us.”

They look at each other in silence. Then Junkrat pulls his hand away, rolls his eyes, and gives an enormous, theatrical sigh.

“ALRIGHT, alright, _alright._ No more emotional blackmail! I’ll think about it. _Think_ about it. Ergh, you’re lucky I can’t say no to a beautiful woman looking at me like that.” Junkrat catches himself when the grumbled words have already left his mouth. “Egh—I mean—damnit! Forget I said that thing, that—what I said just now.” Flustered, he points a finger at her. “I’m onto you, doc. Don’t think I don’t know what you women are like!”

Angela is laughing into her hand, equal parts amused and flattered. His poor face is bright red. But at least he’s smiling now, the curve of it a sheepish admission of defeat.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully. “As that’s resolved, I think we’re done for now. Let’s get your prescriptions printed and schedule an x-ray, then you’ll be free from my villainous hands.”

“About time too, I thought I was joining the bloody good guys here!”

Angela prints the prescriptions and wraps up Junkrat’s medical in the process. She gives him directions for the canteen so he can get some breakfast, though not before reminding him that his shirt is still on the floor, and she lets him know that he’s welcome to join his new teammates later on for some drinks. When he goes, Angela gives herself a couple of minutes to relax, left with a huge smile on her face from the hurricane of his presence.

Assessing Junkrat was actually quite… fun? It certainly went better than she was anticipating, even with their disagreement on his prosthetics. Not bad for a routine medical examination. He is really quite a character, although now she’s going to be worried as long as he’s missing those crucial few inches on his right leg. Still, he’s open to reconsidering in the future, maybe. At least that’s some sort of progress.

Angela peeks out of her office and waves over to Mako, who’s sitting in the waiting area with his arms folded. The rest of the morning passes slowly. Mako—who goes by Roadhog—isn’t very talkative, which isn’t ideal, but they manage to work through his physical in decent time. He doesn’t perform nearly as well as Junkrat in some respects, but there’re no cybernetics to worry about this time, and Roadhog has had the foresight to bring a spare inhaler so he can keep one on his person. Angela bags the spare ready for testing, and after a couple of hours she has signed him off, too.

Just like that the morning is over, Overwatch having gained two new members. Angela has half an hour for lunch before she calls the final recruit into her office. Lúcio’s session is faster and less intense than the Junkers’, and he performs well across the board, as expected. Angela thinks he’ll fit in easily with the others. He’s so charming and polite, but he’s enthusiastic, too, like a human ray of sunshine. A human ray of sunshine with a case of mild tinnitus, that is.

When Angela has a chance to check the time it’s already three o’clock. Once Lúcio’s medical is signed off she anticipates needing another couple of hours before she can head over to the pub, so she texts Lena to let her know.

_Think I’ll be at the Regent for about 5:30. Save a seat for me?_

Lena’s reply is immediate:

_You got it. Whole place is booked out for us so see you there!!_

Booking out venues wasn’t needed back when Angela first joined Overwatch, but now it’s an implicit requirement in their contract with the military: keep things quiet and we will continue to fund you. It means they can’t have as many company-expensed evenings out as they used to, but Angela doesn’t mind at all, grateful for any excuse to hang out and catch up with the others. Too much of her time is spent alone these days.

By five o’clock the new recruits are officially ready to begin training and Angela is getting ready to go. After pulling her hair from the band and giving it a shake, she hangs her labcoat behind the door and locks up her office. She’s been on the Bakerloo underground line enough times to know when the bumps and banking curves hit the carriages— essential information for mid-journey lipstick application—and it only takes a few minutes before Angela is stepping out of the station and into the city. London’s temperature has dropped to a more comfortable but still hot 27 degrees, the sun just beginning its descent into night. It feels wonderful outside, better still now that work is over for the week.

The pub is full of familiar faces. Angela loves it in here—the chandeliers, plush red upholstery, dark wood tables. You can have a pint and a laugh but it feels upmarket and more glamorous than a regular London pub. Angela is very glad she chose to wear the pencil dress now, feeling equally glam and sophisticated in it. The bar is already quite crowded, and as staff filter in over the course of the evening it’s going to be more difficult to get a drink. Angela is fine with this, happy to be surrounded by people. Her heels clack against the floorboards as she makes a beeline for her first drink of the evening, but she’s intercepted by Lena greeting her with a huge hug.

“Hey doc!” Lena says, effervescent as always. She’s dressed in a fitted shirt and black jeans, the epitome of smart casual. “God it’s been so long, I’m so glad you’re here! Looking gorgeous as ever!”

“It’s great to see you too,” Angela laughs. “How’ve you been?”

They chatter at the bar while they wait to be served. Angela orders Lena a gin and tonic and an espresso martini for herself, knowing she’ll need the caffeine to help keep her awake through the evening.

“Yeah, I’m still in Hammersmith with Emily,” Lena tells her, dreamily. “Things are going great, but she REALLY wants a cat. What about you? Still living out in leafy Bucks?”

“For now,” Angela sighs. “Until they need me on full time duty, I prefer the commute to living in the city. There’s so much work to do on the house still.”

“Oh come on, London isn’t that bad!” Lena pouts.  
  
“It’s not! But the countryside reminds me of home. Plus I’ll never tire of looking up at night and being able to see the stars.”

“You’ve got me there. But yeah, you should let me know when you’re back in town with some free time. We could have a shop around Piccadilly!”  
  
“I’d love that!” Angela says, delighted. She doesn’t have many girlfriends outside of work to have lunch or go shopping with.

The Overwatch agents have a corner of the pub to themselves. At one table are Ana, Jack, Reinhardt and Torbjörn, and at the other are Hana and Jesse. Angela and Lena wander over to the younger agents, Angela exchanging air kisses with Hana and a careful one-armed hug with Jesse so her martini doesn’t spill.

“It’s been far too long since I saw your pretty face around here,” Jesse says, his American drawl as charming as ever.

“Likewise,” Angela says with a wink, and they all laugh. She takes a seat opposite him. “So, what’s happening? How are you both?”

“Not sure if you heard, but we’re being shipped out to Japan next week,” Jesse says. “Hana’s been tellin’ me to expect terrible hamburgers and real small hotel rooms, so I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”  
  
“Wait, next week? Isn’t that a bit short notice?” Lena asks, exchanging a look with Angela. Neither of them were told about this.

Jesse shrugs. “Apparently the Shimadas can’t handle this particular mission alone. And before you start worrying about him, Miss Ziegler, Genji’s just fine,” he says, having caught the worry on Angela’s face before she could voice it. “They just need a little backup.”

“I see,” Angela says. If they’re staying in hotel rooms rather than the usual Overwatch-owned accommodation the situation must be somewhat urgent. “As I haven’t been told about this, I take it Ana will be supporting you this time?”  
  
“Seems so. Don’t worry about it doc, trust me.”  
  
Angela appreciates Jesse’s easy, lopsided smile at her. If he’s not worried about it there’s no reason for her to be. A long time has passed since Genji’s last malfunction, and she’s been careful to keep his software updated as often as possible. She doesn’t doubt that if Genji was in need of help, they’d be sending her instead.

Hana huffs loudly. “I can’t _believe_ they’re making me go too, just when Lúcio is joining us. I’ve been dying to meet him for months!” She turns to Angela with a pleading look in her eyes. “He’s definitely coming tonight, isn’t he?”

“He said he was, so perhaps he’s just preparing himself to meet you,” Angela says. “I’m sure he’ll want to make the best first impression.”

“Like that’ll be hard,” Lena says, grinning.

“Please, you guys, we’re just friends,” Hana says, trying unsuccessfully to disguise her smile behind a pout. The group have playfully teased Hana about meeting Lúcio ever since his invitation became common knowledge at HQ, and Hana tends to respond with dramatic swoons and broad grins while telling them all to quit it. Angela and Lena think it’s incredibly cute that she’s excited to meet him. Having actually met Lúcio, Angela has no doubt that they’ll get along very well.

“He’ll be here,” Jesse says, in the same way he told Angela not to worry about Genji. He pats Hana’s shoulder. “And he’ll still be here when we’re back, too. Just relax.”

Angela has a few sips of her martini, enjoying the atmosphere and the taste of cool sweet coffee after a long day of work. Hana heads off to the bathroom and Jesse gets up to order himself a beer and treat Lena to another drink. It’s just the two of them when Lena turns to face her, frowning.

“Hey, there’s one thing I wanted to ask you about—those Aussies,” she says. “They’re the ones who stole the crown jewels, aren’t they.”

It’s not a question but a statement. Ah, yes—Angela remembers that morning when reports came in of the Great Heist at the Tower of London. Lena, fiercely patriotic, had been furious. The Heist happened early last year and just a few months ago the crown jewels were anonymously ‘donated’ back to the government. Around the time Angela was informed of Junkrat and Roadhog’s invitations to Overwatch, coincidentally.

“They are the very same ones, yes. But you know they wouldn’t have been invited if there was any possibility of them trying something like that again,” Angela says, hoping to reassure her.

Lena purses her lips. “Mm. You really don’t think they will?”

Angela sits back, thinking about it. “It’s difficult for me to say because my interaction with them has been quite superficial,” she says, truthfully. “As they were willing to return the crown jewels in the first place, I don’t think they’d want to compromise their position now that they’ve been accepted.”

Lena is staring down into her glass. She turns it, watches the ice cubes clink against the sides. The frown on her face tells Angela she’s unconvinced. “You’d hope so, wouldn’t you. I expect they don’t care about the position as much as the salary though,” Lena says, coldly.

Angela goes to say something but decides against it, as Lena has a point. Junkrat and Roadhog are still criminals, they’re just contracted to Overwatch and paid a hefty wage to do morally justifiable jobs now. But surely they wouldn’t just join Overwatch for the, admittedly substantial, salary, would they?  
  
Well, regardless, Angela has no qualms about accepting her own Overwatch paycheck every month despite her pacifist ideals. Lena is just the same. At least this way Junkrat and Roadhog are doing legitimate work. She knows she can’t say this to Lena, though. When Lena has her mind set on something it can be very difficult for her to see things any other way.  The last thing she wants is to start an argument.

But Angela feels optimistic after meeting the Aussies today, and she wants to try and relay that optimism. It’s so much better if the team can generally get along with one another—makes assignments easier to complete, and having evenings out like this possible.

“Both of them were easy to deal with today, you know. Roadhog didn’t say much, but Junkrat was actually rather friendly,” Angela says. The look of surprise on Lena’s face makes her feel a little better about her own preconceptions of Junkrat; both of them must have anticipated immediately bad behaviour from him.

“No way,” Lena says. “I don’t believe that. I mean—I get it, Aussie blokes tend to be alright, but – seriously?”

“Seriously. I was just as surprised as you. But Junkrat was polite—did everything I told him, even. Not what you’d expect from a criminal like him, right?”  
  
Lena laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t think _anyone_ would have a problem doing anything you told them, doc.”

Angela just laughs, embarrassed because she knows it’s sort of true. She thinks about what Junkrat had said earlier—the inadvertent compliment followed by the sheepish smile on his face. Okay, it probably wasn’t totally inadvertent, Angela isn’t that naïve. But Junkrat had been much friendlier than she was expecting. He was very easy to talk to and get along with, which in turn made it easy for Angela to warm to him. He’d also made her laugh, something very high on Angela’s list of likeable qualities in a person.

“Anyway, I think the two of you could get along well,” she says. “They might come along tonight, so I think it’ll be good to meet him yourself and see what you think then.”

“Stealing the crown jewels isn’t a particularly forgivable crime in my book. Ugh, I suppose you’re right though,” Lena sighs. “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. But that doesn’t mean I have to like them!”

“We don’t all need to be the best of friends,” Angela says, fairly. “I understand that you’re wary of them, as we all should be, but I don’t believe legal would allow us to recruit anyone who was deemed too much of a risk.”

Lena still looks unconvinced, but her frown has eased. “I suppose so. Just have to see how it goes now, don’t we?”

“We do indeed.”

They chat a little more about other, benign things, and some chips arrive at the table for them to snack on. When Hana returns Angela excuses herself to get another drink before saying hello to the others. Reinhardt and Torbjörn are discussing a recent football match, and Jack is quiet as usual, a beer sat half empty in front of him. They all greet Angela but Ana gets up to give her a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Ana says, holding her by the shoulders. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Angela says in kind, surprised by Ana’s warmth. She can be distant and professional to the point of coldness at times, so it’s pleasant to see her at ease like this. Angela notes the almost empty glass of wine on the table in front of her. “Are you keeping well?”

Ana scoots along to allow her into the booth so they can order some food, more drinks, and catch up. The established members of Overwatch all do such different work around HQ that there’s often a lot to talk about. Ana is relieved that Fareeha’s latest mission is over. Jack is leading the tactical planning for the Japanese assignment. Torbjörn finished upgrading HQ’s physical defences this week, and Reinhardt has supposedly found a polish so good it gives his armour the most incredible mirror-like shine. There are four empty pint glasses in front of him. He looks very happy, a rosy glow on his cheeks.

Angela starts telling them about some of her latest research—fortification of the wings on her Valkyrie suit—but the conversation swiftly deviates to the new recruits. Angela is honest with them when they ask for her first impressions: Lúcio is charming, Roadhog is quiet, and Junkrat is too much to describe in one word. It seems they’re all somewhat wary of the Junkers, but the older members will also be more receptive to good performance and behaviour. Unlike Lena, who already seems to have her mind made up.

“We’ll see how they fare in combat,” Ana says. “You’ll have to let me know how their training goes next week.”

“I’m not quite sure what to expect, aside from a lot of loud music and explosions. Perhaps all of us will be pleasantly surprised,” Angela says, setting down her third empty cocktail glass. “We’ll see.”

Actually, Angela is optimistic about training next week, too. No two Overwatch agents have ever been alike, and as similar as Junkrat and Roadhog’s circumstances may be, they are still completely different people. Angela is particularly, albeit privately, excited to see what Junkrat has to offer. He has a lot to prove if everyone is already wary of him, and part of her hopes he’ll surpass their expectations, just like he did hers today.

Where are those two, anyway? Angela checks her phone for the time, realising that she’s been in the pub for ages and there’s no sign of either one of them. When she’d told him about drinks earlier Junkrat hadn’t said no but he hadn’t exactly said yes either, just that having a couple of ‘bevvies’ sounded good. The thought of neither of them turning up is disappointing, which itself is a surprise to her. She supposes it’s always good to meet colleagues in a more relaxed setting, but it’s probably more the fact that Junkrat was so fun to talk to. She really hopes the others warm to him too.

The pub fills with people coming in from the later shifts, with Lúcio making his appearance shortly after everyone has finished their food. The older agents eagerly wave over to him when they spot him. Lúcio moves like he’s going to come over and introduce himself, but he’s quickly whisked away by Lena. Angela watches fondly; Lúcio actually looks a little shy when Hana jumps up to hug him, all eyes in the pub suddenly on them thanks to her excited screaming. But he hugs her back and they sit down with Jesse and Lena, talking animatedly together.  
  
“Is there anything more wonderful than being young and in love?” Ana sighs, watching them.

“Ohh, come on, Ana, that isn’t love—they’ve only just met!” Torbjörn says. Jack shakes his head.

“It feels so long ago but those feelings never leave you,” he says, wistfully. “It’s good to see her looking so happy after everything she’s been through. Feels like only yesterday we were picking her up from the airport for her induction.”

Jack has always been fond of Hana. She suffered for a long time after escaping the ruins of her home town, and it was Jack who looked out for her during those first few missions, Jack who escorted her to Angela’s office in the dead of night when she was shaking too much to sleep.

He’s smiling now, but Angela can see a little sadness in him. Jack is probably always going to worry about Hana after all that, even though she’s much stronger now than she was then.

“Oh, Jack, you say that like you’re seeing her off on her wedding day!” Angela says playfully, trying to lighten him. She notes that he’s on his third beer, which correlates with him being a little more reminiscent than usual. Jack has never been a big drinker.

“Don’t worry,” Ana says, patting his arm. “There’ll be no father figure better than you to walk her down the aisle when the time comes.”

Jack just laughs, warmth in his eyes when he looks at both of them.

“I’m not her father, but thank you, ladies. Just looking out for our protégés.”

“Well, I’m going to get another drink,” Angela says, smoothing out her dress as she stands. “Would anyone like anything?”

“Steady on Angela, some of us haven’t even finished our sixth… seventh… whichever beer this is yet!” Reinhardt says, his voice a proud and merry bellow. Angela chuckles, heading over to the bar when the rest of them decline her offer.

There’s an opening between Dan from legal and Jessica from finance where she can slot in. Angela watches the barmen rush around making cocktails and pulling pints while she waits to be served. It’s dark outside now, the music a little louder than when she arrived to account for the chatter of so many people. There’s a distinct sound which she can suddenly hear above the music, though—that of metal clanking on wood. Angela knows exactly what it is and turns around.

Junkrat has arrived with Roadhog. He looks relaxed, wearing the same shorts and shirt he was in earlier, the plaster still on his arm from where his blood was drawn. He says something over his shoulder to Roadhog and then his face brightens when he sees Angela, giving her a friendly wave.

They walk on over, the clanking of Junkrat’s leg interspersed with an unidentifiable jingling coming from Roadhog. Dan from legal looks around and almost jumps seeing these two formidable looking men approach, quick to get his change from the barman and escape. Junkrat takes Dan’s place beside Angela with Roadhog a looming presence behind them both. Roadhog acknowledges her with a nod, which Angela supposes is his version of a smile, seeing as his face is covered.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Junkrat says cheerfully. His shirt and shorts are looking much dirtier than when she saw him this morning, but Angela is happy to see that his eyes are still clear and hydrated. He must be using the eyedrops as instructed.

“I was starting to think you two weren’t going to show up,” she says. “What can I get you both to drink?”

Junkrat shakes his head, already pulling his wallet out.

“On the contrary my dear, allow me. What’ll it be for ya?”

“It’s alright, I’ll get these,” Angela says, unsure if she should be suspicious of his generosity. Junkrat’s wallet is absolutely stuffed.

“Come on doc, don’t be shy, it’s my treat! What’re ya having?”

Junkrat looks pleased with himself just for offering so she decides to oblige him.

“If you insist. I wouldn’t mind a beer, actually.” Angela is in the mood to drink more than usual tonight. Beers aren’t usually her thing, but they’re great as a rare treat—greater still as a means of getting a little tipsy with new colleagues.

Junkrat’s eyebrows lift up like he’s impressed. He flags down the barman.

“A pint for this lady here and two double rum and cokes please, mate.”

Angela glances between the two of them while they wait, wondering if Roadhog is here as Junkrat’s bodyguard or if they are actually friends. He hasn’t said a word yet, standing behind them like he’s protecting them from the rest of the pub. She wonders if she should feel uncomfortable about being boxed in by this silent giant, but she doesn’t. Perhaps it’s because she’s already met and spoken to both of them—conducted their physical exams, even—but Angela feels pretty relaxed.

The drinks are poured out in front of them and Junkrat pops a straw into Roadhog’s glass. “Cheers,” he says, and the three of them clink their glasses together.

“Here’s to Overwatch’s Junker infiltration,” Angela says, making Junkrat laugh. “And here’s to you, Junkrat, for this. Thank you.”

“Not at all doc. Consider it my thanks for everything today,” he says, and she can’t help returning his smile as they take a drink.

Junkrat sets his glass on the counter, half of his rum and coke gone already. His eyes narrow in scrutiny as he looks over to where the other agents are sitting.

“Right, so before I go over there and make a fool of m’self, lemme see if I recognise everyone.” Junkrat leans in towards Angela so she can hear him. His voice is easily distinguishable even amidst the pub noise, but she leans towards him in kind, following his eyes. He smells quite strongly of diesel. “I know that that one’s Tracer, that’s easy,” he says, “and—hold on a minute. Is that Lúcio?”

Angela nods. “Yes, _the_ Lúcio. You’re not the only famous additions to our team, you know.”

“I’d say notorious is probably a more fitting term for us, but I’ll take famous. Sounds flashy,” Junkrat says. “Anyway, no idea who that other bloke is.”

“That’s Jesse McCree. He’s been with us for quite some time in one way or another. He was actually an outlaw too, like you.”

“Hey, _former_ outlaw like me, y’mean,” Junkrat corrects her. “As of this morning I think you’ll find I am a changed man!”

This makes Roadhog laugh. “Yeah, right,” he grunts, and Junkrat huffs indignantly.

“Don’t you ‘yeah right’ me!”

“I don’t think I’m the one you’ll need to convince,” Angela says. She takes a long sip from her beer, enjoying the way Junkrat looks at her, hopeful and worried at the same time.

“Oh?”

She gestures over to where Lena is sitting. “Certain people may find it difficult to look past certain crimes that have been committed against certain monarchies.”

“Ahhh… shit,” Junkrat says. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re on about.” He groans and rubs a hand across his face, probably knowing he’ll be in for it when he introduces himself to Lena. Angela immediately feels bad, afraid that she might’ve dampened his good spirits with this when it was supposed to make him laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have your back,” she says, smiling when Junkrat looks through his fingers at her. “Just thought it was worth mentioning in case you go over there bragging about it and get, you know, punched. I can fix a bruised face, but a bruised first impression not so much.”

Angela is relieved when Junkrat does laugh at this.

“Thanks, doc, you’re really saving my arse today!”

“Just doing my job,” she says airily, patting his back. “Come on, let’s go and say hello.”

They head over to the younger agents. Lúcio is showing Hana something on his phone, but when Junkrat greets them, she looks up with a gasp.

“Woah! Hey, you, long time no see!” she says. To everyone’s surprise, Hana immediately gets up and hugs him.

“Alright Miss D.va, s’been a while!” Junkrat says, squeezing her back before she lets him go. Angela and Lena share a wide-eyed look.

“Uh. You two know each other already?” Lena asks.

“Didn’t I tell you guys? Junkertown is, like, super famous for its mech battles,” Hana says. “I went there last Christmas when I was travelling. That’s when I met these two!”

This is news to Angela. She remembers Hana’s annual leave at Christmas, but she can’t recall any mention of Junkertown. Actually… Hana’s MEKA was quite different when she returned, now that Angela thinks about it. She remembers being impressed by it during testing prior to an assignment, and Hana had mentioned ‘this crazy Aussie guy’ who’d taken a look at it.

“I was having sooo many problems with my defence matrix, but then _this_ guy came along and not only fixed it, but increased its duration _and_ improved the spread of my cannon fire.” She pulls on Junkrat’s arm like he’s a fairground prize she’s just won. Junkrat puffs out his chest in pride, enjoying the fact that he’s being shown off.

“I s'pose I did do a pretty stellar job on it,” he sniffs.

If Lena’s eyebrows went any higher they’d be off her face. “Well. Nice to meet you,” she says, and Angela can tell she’s doing her best to sound polite. She stands and shakes Junkrat’s human hand.

“And y’self, Miss Tracer, pleasure to meet ya.”

Lena’s smile is a hard line on her face. Junkrat looks nervous when he smiles back, and Angela can see him wince—notices that Lena’s grip on his hand is rather firm.

“Not planning on stealing anything this time, are you?” Lena asks, darkly. His hand is going white.

“Wha—Who, me? Of _course_ not—”

“Just kidding,” she says, releasing his hand. Junkrat laughs, the sound immediately trailing off into a squeak when Lena’s eyes narrow at him. “I know you wouldn’t dare.”

“And this is Roadhog,” Angela says quickly, giving Roadhog an encouraging push so that he steps forward between them.

“Hi,” he says.

Lena looks him up and down. She isn’t fazed at all by how monstrous he is, though Angela supposes he doesn’t look quite as menacing when he’s sipping his drink through a straw. Lena shakes his hand too, though she doesn’t seem to try crushing it this time.

Jesse pulls up a couple of extra stools so the Junkers can join them, and Reinhardt comes over with two bottles of champagne and some flute glasses. The rest of the older agents follow him, and while everyone else becomes acquainted and Reinhardt pours out the champagne, Angela takes a seat beside Junkrat, grateful to sit down now that she’s starting to feel the effects of those cocktails. He’s trying to rub colour back into his human hand.

“I see you managed to survive,” she says. Junkrat’s face instantly inverts from a pronounced scowl into puppydog eyes and a wibbling lip, and Angela laughs, amazed by his elasticity. Junkrat is really quite funny.

“Thought I was gonna need a new one for a minute there,” he says, almost whimpering. Angela smiles sympathetically at him, even more amazed that he looks pitiful enough for her to feel genuinely sorry for him.

“You know, if you did need a new one, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Y—Wait, I see what’s going on here.” Junkrat squints at her. “You just wanted an excuse to replace _both_ me hands, didn’tcha?” he asks, playfully nudging her arm. Angela purses her lips against a chuckle.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, and he nudges her again, grinning now.

“You cheeky thing! Ya did, didn’tcha! Didn’tcha!”  
  
“Nope! I’d never do such a thing!” Angela laughs, gently batting his hand away. Being teased and poked like this reminds her of being in the playground, chased around by the boys back when she was at school.

“Sheesh, you’ve really got it in for me, doc. And here I was thinkin’ you were takin’ care of me.” Junkrat gives her the puppydog eyes again. “I thought I was special!” he wails.

“Oh, Junkrat, you _are_ special,” Angela says, compelled to put her arm around his shoulders and give him a brief, comforting squeeze. Gosh, she’d almost forgotten how broad he is.

“Y'mean it?” Junkrat sniffles, his eyes saucers. For a six foot six Australian bomberman, Junkrat looks adorable—a thought which Angela should probably be alarmed by, but finds that actually she isn’t. It’s probably just the alcohol as she’s several cocktails and half a beer in now, and it’s making her feel warm and a little fuzzy. More susceptible to Junkrat’s criminal wiles, she thinks, hearing it in Lena’s voice in her head.

“Of course I mean it,” she says. He keeps making those eyes at her and she can’t help giving him another squeeze, one which he leans into this time, playing along with her coddling. Somehow Angela is finding it easy to partake in this playful and slightly physical banter with Junkrat, something she hasn’t done with anyone for a very long time. Maybe it’s because she’s already been physical with him in a professional capacity—joked with him about taking his top off, even—and the boundary that’s normally there with an acquaintance has already breached as a result.

Or maybe it is just the alcohol. Whatever it is, Angela feels very relaxed with him right now, though it helps that he’s doing such a good job of making her laugh.

“You’re _very_ special,” she says, releasing him. She drops her voice and cups her hand over his ear. “And don’t let any British bullies tell you otherwise,” Angela whispers, loudly.

This gets Lena’s attention. Angela reaches for her beer to down the rest of it, and Junkrat mimics her, downing the rest of his rum and coke. Lena frowns, but she’s smiling, too.

“Subtle,” she says, and Angela can’t help giggling when Junkrat grins at her, feeling like a kid passing notes in class.

“Now then, everyone!” Reinhardt calls out, standing up. He lifts his champagne flute with a flourish. “A toast, to our new members!”

Angela puts the empty beer down to grab her champagne flute, and everyone brings their glasses in for a clink—even Lena, albeit begrudgingly when she finds her glass is directly opposite Junkrat’s. The team call a collective ‘cheers!’ before taking a drink and Angela winces a little, the champagne sharp as it fizzes down her throat. Roadhog is sipping his through another straw, and when she looks over to him, Junkrat has downed his champagne in one long gulp.

“So how long you fellas been in the country?” Jesse asks, when the toast is over and everyone resumes chatting.

“Ehhh, ‘bout a week,” Junkrat says, wiping his mouth. “Think we arrived in London on… Sunday? Lemme tell ya, travelling for 24 hours next to this guy is a killer.” He thumbs at Roadhog, who just sighs. “ _Never_ again. Next time I’m hiring m’self a private jet.”

“A private jet? Sounds like you’ve got some cash to burn,” Jesse says, sounding very interested. Junkrat swallows.

“Well I mean y’know, that uh—that was just a joke, ‘course.”

Jesse smirks. “Uh huh.”

“Where are you guys staying?” Lúcio asks, and Junkrat looks at him like he’s just saved his life.

“Islington! Here in the city. We got a flat close to Angel station.”

“Oh cool! You didn’t go in-house either then, huh?”

New agents coming into Overwatch are usually offered dormitory housing close to HQ. Hana recently moved out of these dorms and into her own apartment, thanks to all her sponsorships and a payrise last quarter. Angela imagines Lúcio will probably have an apartment of his own too, but she’s surprised to hear that Junkrat and Roadhog are apparently living together. It doesn’t seem like they’re a couple from what she’s seen so far.

“Naaah,” Junkrat says, wrinkling his nose. “Having our own place is much better, need me independence too much.”

“Your own place, huh? You bought yourself an apartment?” Jesse asks. He’s leaning in now, clearly fishing for the lowdown on Junkrat’s financial situation, though Angela is pretty interested to hear his response too. Junkrat opens his mouth only for Roadhog to forcefully elbow him.

“We’re renting,” Roadhog says.

“Right.” Jesse takes a chip, chewing slowly on it while he watches Junkrat furiously rub his arm. “Well, welcome aboard,” he says, apparently letting him off the hook. “I expect you fellas will start your training with our lovely Miss Ziegler next week.”

Angela gives Jesse the usual look of flattered embarrassment.

“I’m sure she’ll go easy on you while you get used to bein’ in the big smoke,” Jesse says, winking at her.

“Fat chance of that,” Lena laughs.

“Hey, no free passes expected here. I’m ready to get started,” Lúcio says, holding up his hands. “But also, real talk? I’m happy we’ve got the weekend to get settled cause man, this jetlag _sucks_.”

Angela has to think for a moment, her champagne-addled brain taking a bit longer to process where Lúcio has come from.

“Ah, right,” she says. “You’ve come forwards in time, haven’t you?  That’s usually more punishing than travelling backwards. That is, unless you’re Lena.”

“Yeah, I didn’t find it so bad coming back to the UK from Korea last year and that’s nine hours,” Hana says. “How have you two found it, coming from Australia?”

Roadhog and Junkrat look at each other, offering a mutual shrug.

“S’alright,” Junkrat says. “Done plenty of travelling before coming here so y’sorta get used to it. Visited the UK, er, a handful of times before now, which, y’know, helps.” He seems to be aware that Lena is scowling at him and chooses his words carefully. “For… er… sightseeing! Big Ben n’all that. _Definitely_ not for stealing or conducting other criminal activity.” He coughs. “Asidefromthatonetime.”

“I gotta say, London is crazy different to Rio,” Lúcio says, once again coming to Junkrat’s rescue before Lena can pounce. “I mean, both are pretty crazy cities, but London’s a different kinda crazy. Like… everyone’s in a rush, all the time. Everywhere. And so _angry_. What’s up with that?”

“Right?” Hana says. “Coming here was such a shellshock, everything is _so_ different. I think the people are actually pretty friendly though. I got lost my first day here, and then I was trying to find this one place in Chinatown and I had no idea where I was…”

Hana retells the tale of her first day out in London and all of the Overwatch team listen in. Angela can’t help watching Lúcio look at Hana, the fondness in his eyes and the way his smile softens. Angela smiles dreamily, resting her chin in her palm. It’s been a very long time since she had a crush on anyone. If a crush is indeed budding somewhere between them, she thinks it would be wonderful.

“… and they were _super_ helpful and nice,” Hana sighs. “But then sometimes you get a real jerk who pushes past you on the sidewalk and doesn’t even apologise! So it’s swings and roundabouts, I guess.”

“Eh, there’re jerks everywhere,” Jesse says. “London’s much the same as any big city. You boys’ll be fine.”

“And I _will_ take into account the time differences you’re operating on,” Angela says, looking between the three newbies. “So don’t worry. At least, not too much.”

“Thank you, doc,” Lúcio says, politely appreciative.

“Yeah, thanks mate.” Junkrat reaches over to grab the champagne on their end of the table. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others that ya think I’m special,” he says, so only Angela can hear. He’s grinning at her when he pulls back, and Angela returns it, suddenly aware that her face feels rather hot.

Junkrat’s grin is short-lived, though—he goes to pour himself another glass only to find the bottle is empty. “Damnit. Roadie!”

Roadhog stands up, the intonation somehow enough to indicate that it’s time for more alcohol.

“Anybody want a drink?” Junkrat offers openly. Angela shakes her head when he looks at her, realising in the process that she’s starting to feel a little swampy. It’s a good swampy, though, like she’s submerged in the warmth of being tipsy in good company.

“I think I’m fine for now, thank you.”

They head off to the bar. Lena swoops into Junkrat’s empty seat with an evil look on her face.

“Think he feels welcome enough?” she asks. Angela frowns at her, trying and failing to appear disapproving.

“You’re terrible. Somehow I think he got the message.”

“Good. I don’t want him thinking he can just get away with it.”

Lena glances over her shoulder before leaning in close. “He’s not… _flirting_ with you, is he?” she asks suspiciously. It’s such an unexpected and ridiculous question that Angela laughs.

“What? No! Of course not. We’re just being silly.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m also a little tipsy,” Angela says, grateful that she’s still sober enough to realise this. “Plus, didn’t you hear? He and Roadhog are living together.”

Not that it’s any of Angela’s business, but from what she’s seen so far she doesn’t think they’re living together as a couple. However, if Angela has learned anything from meeting Junkrat today, it’s to expect the unexpected from him, so it’s not an assumption she feels confident about just yet.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re dating,” Lena says, seemingly in agreement with her thinking. “Anyway, I suppose it’s good you’re getting on with him,” she concedes. “Just don’t… y’know.”

Angela knows exactly what’s on her mind. “Lena, I’m going to treat both him and Roadhog just the same as I would anyone else,” she says, softly. “I know better than to trust any new member from the get-go, you know that. All those issues we had with Genji were lessons to learn from, not mistakes to repeat.”

Hearing this, something in Lena seems to give. Her shoulders visibly loosen.

“Thanks, doc. I know I’m probably just being silly, but—”

“Not at all.” Angela puts her hand gently on Lena’s arm. “You’re being sensible, which is the best way to be.”

She really doesn’t think Lena has anything to worry about, but it’s certainly better to be cautious. Genji was difficult to work with when he first joined the team, and Angela made the mistake of trusting him on several occasions on the battlefield only to be badly let down by him. She knows better now than to immediately trust any new agent, least of all those with a criminal record.

Lena smiles. “Thank you,” she says, and Angela is relieved to see that she finally seems reassured by this.

They’re quiet together for a moment, watching and listening to everyone around them. Angela has a peripheral awareness that it’s getting later, closer to the time of her last train home, but she doesn’t want to leave just yet. She feels so relaxed here, having laughed more being silly with Junkrat than she has in a long time. It’s only the first day, but Angela is unafraid to admit to herself that the Junkrat she has seen so far seems… genuine, for lack of a better word. He didn’t hesitate to defend himself during the medical, and he was happy to come along this evening and introduce himself to everyone despite being an outsider.

It doesn’t mean she can completely trust him, as she’s just told Lena, but Angela is really happy that he came along tonight. Well, and Roadhog, of course. Neither of them match the “good guys” vibe of their current Overwatch team, but are both a much needed breath of fresh air, instead. Well, perhaps that isn’t the best expression for Junkrat, she thinks, glancing over to where he’s standing by the bar. Junkrat is more like an injection of chaos, or perhaps an adrenaline boost, she isn’t quite sure which is more fitting yet.

He’s laughing about something, leaning over the bar while he waits to be served. They weren’t actually flirting, were they? No, of course not. Junkrat is a colleague. Still not much more than an acquaintance, really. They were just having a joke around. Getting along and having a rapport with someone doesn’t mean you’re flirting with them.

Angela reaches up to touch her face, surprised that it still feels warm. Probably time to stop drinking now. She’d like to sober up a little more before getting her train home.

Gradually, more people start leaving the pub to find somewhere else in London with a dancefloor. Reinhardt and Ana head off home after a little while, followed by Jack—their nights of heavy partying ended years ago—though Torbjörn seems to have joined the Junkers at the bar for more drinks. Angela is still sitting with Lena and the others, all of them listening to some of Lucio’s anecdotes from Rio.

By the time Angela checks her phone it’s close to midnight. She’s getting sleepy, the caffeine from her earlier martini having sustained her well until now. Torbjörn comes over to say goodbye, so it’s probably a good time to head off, herself. When Lena and the others get up to leave, Angela stands with them, beginning to say her goodbyes just as the Junkers come back to their table.

“We’re moving on to Soho,” Lena says, a bit stiffly as she looks between Junkrat and Roadhog. “You’re welcome to join us if you want.”  
  
“Oh!” Junkrat seems surprised to hear that they’re being invited along. “Sure, why not,” he says, Roadhog nodding beside him.

They all head outside. The air has cooled considerably after the heat of the day, though it’s far from being cold yet. Angela gives the girls a goodbye hug, wishing them all good night, and the group turns to leave—except Junkrat.

“You’re leaving?” he asks her, looking puzzled. Roadhog is standing behind him now too, waiting silently.

“Unfortunately. I don’t want to miss my last train,” Angela says.

“Oh right,” Junkrat says. Angela smiles apologetically at him, touched that he looks so disappointed to see her go. “Is it far?”

“Well, home is about an hour and a half away, but the train station is just up the road.”

“Alright then, we’ll walk ya there."

“Oh—that’s very kind of you, but I’m fine,” Angela says, waving him off. “Go on, you’d better catch up with the others.”

Junkrat looks around at Roadhog. Roadhog says nothing, just barely lifts his chin, but this is apparently enough of a communication for Junkrat to look back at her and shake his head.

“I’ll get a taxi for ya.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, really,” Angela says, flustered now. Junkrat’s already gotten his phone out. “Please, it isn’t even ten minutes away, there’s honestly no need.”

Angela reaches out, putting her hand on his metal arm to stop him. Junkrat taps a few times and lifts his phone up to show her.

“There y’go, all paid for,” he says, grinning. “Should be here in a minute.”

Angela looks at the phone display and then up to Junkrat. He’s beaming at her.

“You really shouldn’t have,” she says, softly, her smile helpless and embarrassed. She’s surprised when Junkrat pulls her against his side in an affectionate—no, a brotherly sort of squeeze. He’s probably a little tipsy himself, she thinks.

“C’mon, doc, what sorta person allows a lady like y’self to go walking alone at night?” he laughs, like it’s nothing. Angela laughs too, wondering when she’s going to stop being surprised by everything Junkrat does.

“You are truly a gentleman,” she says, sincerely. “Thank you.”

“’Course. Gotta look after our Mercy!”

He squeezes her again. For a split second Angela is torn between catching her last train home and staying out for a little longer, because Junkrat radiates warmth in a way that makes her sort of want to stay close to him. He lets her go just as the hovercab turns up, though, and she realises that she’s probably a little tipsier than she thought, embarrassed to have thought something like that. It’s definitely time to leave.

“Thank you,” Angela says, when Roadhog steps up to open the door for her. She briefly holds his arm to steady herself before she gets in. “See you both next week.”

“See ya next week, doc,” Junkrat says, and both of them wave her goodbye as the taxi pulls away.

Angela’s head is swimming by the time she boards her train. She’s grateful for the cool glass window to lean against, looking at her reflection in it, the light of the carriage harsh overhead. Angela was hoping to have sobered up more than this by now but she can see it, that warmth on her face from earlier, the blush that Lena had commented on.

It must have been warmer in the pub than she thought. Perhaps next week the weather won’t be quite so hot, she thinks, closing her eyes as the train carries her out of the city. She can’t help but smile a little, though, looking forward to coming back into London regardless of the weather.

 

*

 


	2. Don't Get Me Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta [Muppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile), who was kind enough to read this and provide some essential adjustments ❤
> 
> I also have some beautiful fanart to share from the first chapter!! Thank you so much to [Tuewbs](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/176190662638/tuewbs-for-superceia-s-fic) and [Blue](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/175882644390/blue-blossom-built-of-metal-superceia)!!!!

It’s a struggle to get out of bed the next morning, but the thought of a nice strong coffee is too tempting to resist, so she pulls on a long t-shirt and reluctantly drags herself downstairs.

Angela feels groggy and tired. She thinks she slept alright, but the time on the microwave says it’s still far too early for her to be awake after crashing so hard last night.  Even if she tried now, though, she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so she boils the kettle and resigns herself to needing lots of caffeine before she can function properly today.

Seems like a headache is coming on. Did she really mix drinks? Angela tries to count how many she had and retrospectively wonders why she thought beer was a good idea after cocktails. Oh, right. The new recruits. She smiles, wondering if Junkrat and Roadhog stayed out with the guys if they did indeed move on to Soho after she left. It was probably an eventful night if they did. She certainly enjoyed herself with them, despite her tiredness now.

Angela grabs her phone from where she left it on the kitchen table last night to check for any drunken messages. There aren’t any, which is a little odd – usually when she leaves early on these nights out she wakes up to a number of blurry photos from Jesse and all-caps messages from Lena. Perhaps they decided to go home early too?

She texts Lena anyway, knowing she’ll reply when she wakes up.

_So how was last night? Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me! ;)_

Angela’s head is hurting now and she has this vague worry that she might’ve had a bit too much to drink after all. She can’t remember doing anything particularly embarrassing. Hopefully Lena will let her know if she did.

Taking her coffee outside, Angela curls up on the veranda so she can look out over the garden while she wakes up. The hydrangea and rosebushes are bursting at the seams. This is amazing considering most of her time at home has been spent inside, all gardening neglected in favour of painting walls and stripping carpets. She expects she’ll only have a few more days working from home before she’ll be needed in HQ on a daily basis, so there’s nowhere near enough time start on the garden now. She’ll have to call up the caretakers today, arrange for them to stop by every now and again to keep on top of it while she’s working all day in the city.

According to her weather app it’s going to rain later on through until Monday – a typical washout weekend. Well, at least the temperature won’t be so bad. Angela perks up when she’s had her coffee and rewards herself with breakfast and a shower, figuring she’ll make it a more relaxed Saturday than normal until her headache eases off.

She hasn’t received a text back from Lena when she checks a couple of hours later. It’s still fairly early in the day though, so she heads out to shop for groceries in town without giving it another thought. Lena finally texts her just as she’s leaving the supermarket and Angela rushes to pack everything into her car so she can read it.

 _Hey doc ☺_ _course not, wasn’t the same after you went! Probably good you left when you did though. Sorry for not texting to make sure you got home alright, you feeling okay today?_

Angela’s eyebrows lift up reading this. She texts back to ask if something happened, only having to wait a minute this time before Lena replies again.

 _Nah honestly nothing for you to worry about ☺_ _just blokes being blokes lol. How’s your Saturday going?_

Angela sits back, wondering if something did happen or if she’s reading too much into it. Lena doesn’t seem interested in providing the details either way, so it’s probably best to let it go for now. She’ll ask her about it the next time she sees her, perhaps sometime next week.

She spends the rest of her weekend working on the spare room downstairs, making the most of this cool, rainy weather. Winston emails her on Saturday evening with the schedule for next month. There’s a team briefing she needs to attend first thing on Monday morning and then once the newbies have had their induction, Angela will commence their physical training later in the week. It’s been a long time since she had to commute daily to London – been a long time since anything warranted her on full time duty. She suspects this is what the team briefing will be about, a slight sense of dread stirring in her stomach. Perhaps this period of peace is finally coming to an end. It’s been an especially long one, this time. Almost a year without anything major happening in fact.

She wonders who else is in on the briefing when she arrives at HQ on Monday morning. Angela is a little late thanks to one of the trains being delayed, but she’s still on time – just. She jogs through the corridor to where everyone is waiting outside one of the boardrooms and Lena comes over to greet her.

“Morning doc, you alright?”

“Yes thanks, sorry I’m late,” she says. “Signal failure on the tube, as usual.”

The briefing must be important as everyone is here, the Junkers and Lúcio clustered around the coffee machine. Angela catches Junkrat’s eye over Lena’s shoulder. He lifts his head in acknowledgement, grinning at her.

“Typical,” Lena sighs, drawing her attention back. “Always happens when you’re rushing to get somewhere, doesn’t it?”

Angela’s weekend was so busy in the end that she’d actually forgotten about Friday night, but there’s no time to ask Lena what happened because suddenly the boardroom door opens and Winston is ushering everyone inside. The tables are set out in a horseshoe with Winston at the front ready to present. Angela steps aside allowing Ana and Reinhardt to sit before her, followed by Jack – and then Torbjörn, just as she goes to close the door. She turns to find the only empty space left is between Lena and Junkrat.

“G’day doc,” he says as she sits down. He seems chirpy. “Good weekend?”

“Busy but good, thank you.” Junkrat’s eyes are still nice and clear, which is a pleasant surprise seeing as the rest of his face is dirty again. Angela smiles at him, anyway. “Dare I ask if it was a good weekend for you?”

“Aw, y’say that like I was up to no good.” He says this so innocently that Angela raises an eyebrow at him.

“Were you?”

Junkrat laughs. “Nah, course not! Roadie and I were just having a wander around the city. There’s so bloody much to do and see here!”

“Gosh, isn’t there just. Where did you go?”

He lists off a couple of places even Angela hasn’t heard of. She’s not very familiar with Camden but she notices Lena bristle on her other side, clearly listening in. Lena goes there often if she remembers correctly, Camden being one of the more alternative and eclectic parts of the city. It doesn’t sound like Junkrat’s been on a weekend crime spree, at any rate, but it reminds Angela that she _must_ ask Lena what happened after she left on Friday. Somehow she can’t imagine Junkrat going on a night out without something happening, good or bad.

Suddenly Winston clears his throat, and everyone looks over to him.

“Sorry for the short notice on this one,” he says. The atmosphere outside felt pretty airy for a Monday morning, but Winston looks stressed, meaning whatever news they’re about to receive isn’t good. “I just want to preface this by saying I don’t think any of us need to panic, just yet, but – there’s a bit of situation you all need to be aware of.”

The atmosphere certainly isn’t airy anymore. Angela straightens up, bracing herself for whatever is coming next.

“Ah - you’ll have to accept my apologies for bringing you into this before we’ve even done your induction,” Winston adds, addressing the new recruits.

“I think it’s good to get some immediate hands-on experience,” Jack says, smiling confidently at them. “Any questions, just ask. We understand this’ll be new to you.”

Winston switches on the projector behind him and everyone looks up at the display. It’s a map of Tokyo with several locations circled in red.

“In May we received field reports of an increased omnic presence in and around the greater Tokyo metropolitan area,” he says, gesturing at the circles. “Japan’s Ministry of Tech were able to correlate the numbers for us to a replacement line of food service units in Shinjuku, and other machinery for a new university campus in Otsuka. All of these omnics were automated – non-AI.”

“Wuh - hold on a minute,” Junkrat says, scowling. “You mean to tell me there’s still active omnic production in Japan?”

“There is indeed, just the same as here and in America,” Ana says, answering on Winston’s behalf. Junkrat seems shocked by this.

“I thought Omnica had been shut down!”

“All reinstated omniums are government owned nowadays,” Lena says, folding her arms. “Didn’t you know that?”

Junkrat clearly did not judging by the look on his face. He glances around in disbelief. “And – and what, nobody has a problem with this?”

“The crisis ended years ago,” Ana reminds him, gently. “Production guidelines are stricter than they were then. Omnics are part of daily human life now.”

Angela can feel Junkrat prickling beside her. He does not seem happy at all about this, but it looks like Winston wants to move the subject along before they go off topic. He points back to the map, where the display has changed to a world view with a few other locations circled.

“Anyway, we noticed that this increased presence was occurring elsewhere at the same time. Again, when we made contact with the relevant authorities, all the increased numbers matched up to similarly automated replacement units. So… not a problem, right?”

“Bit funny that all these replacement units were needed throughout so many locations at the same time,” Lena says.

“Our thoughts exactly,” Winston says. “As we first noticed this happening in Japan, we were able to trace back the issue to a software update rolled out from an omnium in Ibaraki prefecture.”

“And a patch was issued, correct?” Ana asks.

“That’s right. We didn’t hear anymore until last month when Genji reported a rogue omnic just outside Otsuka, weeks after the patch was supposedly live.”

Angela leans forward in her seat. “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

“Genji is fine,” Winston tells her, and she sits back again, sufficiently reassured.

“Thank you.”

“However, there have been a number of incidents which have occurred in the same area since then.” Winston pauses to adjust his glasses. He grimaces, looking down at his notes. "And… last week, the Ibaraki omnium had to be decommissioned in the wake of some automated units suddenly displaying symptoms of aggressive AI activity.”

Ah. There it is. The scenario nobody wanted to hear.

“It was only found in units with a particular processer which had been shipped from the same omnium,” Winston adds, hastily. “We’re assuming that some of them were shipped out of Japan in error which would explain why we’ve had malfunctioning units in other countries.”

“Well, how many?” Ana asks.

Winston pauses. “That is something we don’t know, yet.”

“Oh no,” Hana murmurs. It’s a succinct description of what everyone in the room is feeling. Winston lifts his hands in a calming, ‘slow down’ sort of motion.

“I know, I know, none of you wanted to hear this. I certainly wish I didn’t have to hold a meeting on it. But we’ve had this happen before and nothing has come of it. We’re just erring on the side of caution here – nothing more than that, at the moment.”

Hana is visibly distressed. Lúcio bunts his shoulder against hers and offers a reassuring smile. She smiles back appreciatively, but it’s plain to see what’s on her mind. The last thing any of them want is yet another crisis.

“Looks like it’s back to business,” Ana says, rubbing her temples.

“Hey, we’ve had a pretty good run for the last year,” Jack says. “We knew it wasn’t going to last forever.”

“And we’re already one step ahead,” Winston says. “This is precisely why we’re sending you three over to Tokyo – it’s a precaution more than anything.”

“Flight’s tomorrow, right?” Jesse asks. Ana nods, and Hana looks marginally less distressed now, nodding too.

The display changes again as Winston discusses some other data that’s been compiled over the last few weeks. Beside her, Angela notices Junkrat slouching back in his seat, arms folded tightly over his chest. While she’s disappointed that he’s reacted in such a close-minded manner, it also isn’t very surprising. She can’t tell if Roadhog feels the same but she can feel tension in both of them. Angela hopes they’ll realise how different the world is today. It makes her want to say or do something to reassure them, but sadly they know as much as she does.

Everyone has different concerns. Winston spends about an hour fielding questions but it would appear that even he doesn’t have many answers.

“Ultimately this could all be an innocent coincidence,” he says, shutting off the projector. “But I’ll be honest, everyone needs to be prepared should it develop any further. We will keep you updated as soon as we learn more.”

“And our outsourced agents are aware?” Reinhardt asks.

“Yes, all of them. We’ve also contacted Vishkar so that if necessary we can bring Satya on-board again.”

Winston is referring to Fareeha, Mei and Zarya, who are subcontracted to Overwatch when needed and mostly report to the Japanese headquarters. Zenyatta and Bastion are also based in Japan but Angela is relieved that nobody has mentioned them by name. She’d like to think that Junkrat is already aware of Overwatch’s omnic agents as they are now his colleagues, too, but even if he is, somehow she doesn’t think he’ll be happy about potentially working with them in the future.

“Thanks for your time everyone,” Winston says. “Please stay positive. I know this isn’t good news, but there are more of us now than ever and we’re going to work together. I cannot, and will not, allow another crisis to happen. And I don’t think any of you will, either.”

He always shoulders the responsibility of bearing bad news like this in a way that’s somehow still uplifting. There’s a ripple of thanks from the team, and he’s about to adjourn the briefing when he suddenly remembers something.

“Oh, right, I can’t believe I forgot – we have good news as well! I’m sure you’ve already said hello but please, everyone, if you’d like to welcome on-board our three newest agents.”

The newbies make their formal introductions, some of the tension in the air lifting as they offer a couple of sentences about themselves. Reinhardt scolds Winston for missing the toast on Friday night, and when Winston says he’ll organise a big Halloween event to compensate everyone looks around excitedly. There’s nothing quite like planning a party to relax the mood of an otherwise depressing meeting. Halloween is always one of the highlights of Overwatch’s working year, along with the Christmas party and New Year. It’s a good reminder that regardless of what happens, life has to – and will – go on.

Winston goes through the other Monday morning updates and then everyone is filing out, the omnic dread lightened into excitement for several upcoming social events. Angela gets herself a coffee from the machine and watches the three new agents disappear down the corridor with Winston. Junkrat still doesn’t look particularly happy, his face sullen and his hands in his pockets as he skulks behind the others. Hopefully when he’s up to speed on everything the mere existence of omnics won’t provoke such a kneejerk reaction from him. Ana was right, after all – they are simply part of human life nowadays.

“Can’t believe it’s almost lunchtime already,” Lena says, leaning against the wall beside Angela. “Fancy getting a sandwich with me?”

Angela checks her watch. “Gosh, you’re right. Let’s go now so we beat the rush.”

They head out of HQ and across the street to Lena’s favourite coffee chain. She tries to pay for them both, as usual, but Angela insists, so Lena goes to find them a table instead.

“What do you think about all this then?” she says, mixing her iced coffee with the straw.

“It’s not good, is it,” Angela says. “I’m wondering if the newbies have been brought on board specifically for this.”

“Surely they would’ve told us before if that was the case,” Lena says, looking worried. She’s referring to the veterans – to Ana and Jack. Angela shakes her head.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like they’re kept in the dark just as much as we are, these days.”

Back when Ana and Jack were in charge, their bespoke and cooperative approach to management meant the tight-knit team they fostered always knew what was going on. Ever since Overwatch was bought out by the government neither Jack nor Ana seem privy to the same information they used to be years ago. Apparently the new higher ups prefer to use Winston as their mouth piece instead, drip-feeding information on a strictly need-to-know basis. Angela doesn’t like that Overwatch has become so impersonal and business-oriented, but nonetheless, it’s brought everyone together again – and ultimately still pays the bills.

“Talking about being kept in the dark, can you believe Junkrat this morning?” Lena asks incredulously. “Is he just completely oblivious to the world around him or something? It’s like he’s forgotten what year we’re in.”

“Oh, you mean – the omniums?” Angela hums. “I did think it was a little odd that he wasn’t aware.”

“Hope he realises he’s probably going to work with a couple of omnics in the future,” Lena huffs, referring to Zenyatta and Bastion.

“So long as he _tries_ to get along with everyone that’s all we can ask for,” Angela says. “You never know, he might feel differently once he’s met them.”

“Mm.” Lena stirs her iced coffee again. “He didn’t make a particularly good impression on Friday, if I’m honest.”

She was about to take a bite of her panini but Angela immediately puts it down. She suspected that whatever happened on Friday would be linked to him in some way, but she was rather hoping it wasn’t anything bad.

“I’ve been dying to ask you about that – what happened after I left?”

“Ugh,” Lena says, rolling her eyes. “We went on to the club and everyone started drinking a lot. Like a _lot_. And I mean - that Roadhog, he was alright, but Junkrat was so – _loud_.”

Angela grins at her. “And you’re not when you’ve had a few?”

“Well, yeah,” she scoffs, “but he was obnoxious. Kept spilling his drink everywhere, got it all over Hana’s jacket. I told him to watch it and he didn’t like it, then he spilt beer over my bloody shoes and had the nerve to call me ‘your majesty’ when he finally managed to apologise!”

“Oh dear,” Angela says, feeling guilty that she actually finds this quite funny. “It sounds like he was having a good time with you though, despite your poor shoes. And Hana’s jacket.”

“Yeah, too good a time if you ask me. Then he was – ugh.” Lena wrinkles her nose and sits back in her chair. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?” Angela leans forward, intrigued by this morsel of gossip being dangled in front of her. “Tell me!”

“Oh, doc, it was _so_ _embarrassing_ ,” Lena says, shaking her head. “There was this- girl at the bar and he started chatting her up while we were waiting for drinks. Like full-on going for it."

Angela’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes! It was SO cringeworthy. He wasn’t getting the message at all, coming on _way_ too strong. Calling her gorgeous, insisting on buying her a drink and all that.”

“What happened? He wasn’t rude, was he?”

“Not rude, just… arrogant? Weird? He must’ve thought she was up for it because she looked… Not to be rude or anything, but sort of just.” Lena pauses, probably not wanting to be mean.

“Wild?” Angela supplies, imagining the sort of person Junkrat would go out of his way to flirt with.

“That’s – yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Lena says, grinning despite herself. “Anyway, she told him to sod off and he got sulky after that, which was pretty funny. They left not long afterwards, he and Roadhog.”

“Gosh,” Angela says, surprised at how... well, surprised she is by this. It lends more credit to her theory that Junkrat and Roadhog aren’t an item - not that it matters either way - but this is still nowhere near enough proof for her to be certain.

“Yeah. Typical bloke response to being way too forward,” Lena shrugs. “The club was crap though, you honestly didn’t miss out on anything. Er. Aside from Hana having too much to drink.”

“Oh no. She wasn’t sick this time, was she?”

Lena winces. Angela groans.

“We kept telling her to drink more water but you know how stubborn she is!”

“Yes, just like someone else I know, funnily enough!” Angela says, narrowing her eyes at Lena, who immediately looks away.

“No idea who you’re talking about!”

They laugh, and the conversation shifts to cover the rest of Friday evening. It doesn’t sound like the sort of club Angela would ordinarily enjoy but she’s a little disappointed to have missed out after all. She probably would’ve been able to coerce Hana to drink more water for one thing, but for another, Angela also can’t help feeling curious about the woman at the bar – the one Junkrat was flirting with. She can understand being irritated if he was spilling his drink everywhere, something even she’s done before when she’s been really drunk, but Junkrat being a bit too forward with someone wasn’t quite what she was expecting when Lena intimated that his behaviour had been problematic.

“Oh my god, did you see Lúcio and Hana during the meeting though?” Lena asks excitedly, pulling Angela out of thought.

“Yes!” she says, immediately matching Lena’s excitement. “I just knew they’d get along!”

“Yeah, the three of us were hanging around Shoreditch yesterday and I was basically a third wheel - couldn’t get a word in edgeways!”

“That’s wonderful!” Angela says, delighted to hear this. “I mean - not that you were a third wheel.”

“No, no, I know,” Lena laughs. “I was more than happy to be, though. Not sure if they _like_ like each other yet but it’s still early days.”

Angela sighs. “Is it bad that I’m already rooting for them?”

“Doc, I think we’re _all_ rooting for them,” Lena says. “Screw what HR think, I think we could do with a good romance to gossip about!”

“Oh, absolutely!” Angela says. HR haven’t needed to worry about any interpersonal relationships between the agents thus far, but the communications that went out a couple of years ago indicated that if any were to happen, they’d need to be declared officially.

“Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask - how’s everything going with you?” Lena asks. “It’s been _sooo_ long since we had a proper catch up.”

“With me?”

“Yeah! Any guys I need to know about?” Lena waggles her eyebrows. “Any _girls_ , even?”

Angela laughs, looking down at her coffee with an embarrassed smile. “Oh, no, I’m afraid it’s the same as ever for me.”

“Aw, you’re joking! Aren’t you still doing Kindling?”

“Gosh, not for a long time. I’ve been too busy working on the house to even think about it,” Angela says. In truth, she disabled Kindling along with her other dating apps a couple of months ago, after a particularly disappointing date in the city with a man who was only interested in sex. In hindsight, perhaps even that would’ve been preferable to nothing at all. Angela can’t remember the last time she was with anyone like that.

“So no dates?”

“A few! Just none that were worth pursuing.”

“Awww,” Lena says with a pout. “That’s such a shame.”

Angela smiles, flattered by Lena’s concern for her love life. “It’s fine, really, I’m happy as I am. Work is very fulfilling and it seems like I wouldn’t have time for a relationship even if I was looking for one now.”

“Agh, I suppose that’s true. Still, anytime you need a wingwoman, I’ll be ready!”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Angela chuckles. While she does appreciate Lena’s sentiment, it’s going to be a while before she’s ready to throw herself back into the excruciating world of online dating, especially now that so much of her time is going to be dedicated to Overwatch. She doesn’t even have time to potter around in the garden, much less cultivate a relationship. Never mind. Work is more important, anyway.

Once lunch is over it’s time to head back. Lena is meeting with Winston to assist with the afternoon induction, and Angela has some documentation she needs to grab from her office before she can leave for the day. She doesn’t bump into anyone else before she leaves, so she sends out a couple of emails on the train home – one to Ana, Jesse and Hana wishing them a safe journey to Japan, and another to the newbies, detailing the schedule of their physical training and when they’ll need to arrive at HQ. The three of them will be spending the next few days in a classroom with Winston, learning about Overwatch’s history, going over health and safety protocols and essentially signing their lives away on dozens of legal forms and other paperwork. Angela has no doubt that they’ll all be bored out of their minds by the time they’re in her hands, though hopefully raring to go as a result.

There are a few replies by the time she gets back home and settled in her office, but nothing comes through from Junkrat or Roadhog until the evening. Seems like they’ve only just arrived home - unless they’re off out again, replying from their phones. Angela closes her laptop and grabs her phone too, figuring she can read what they’ve said while she’s preparing dinner.

_To: angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From: mako.rutledge@overwatch.mil.uk  
Subject: RE: Physical Training – Schedule_

_Hi,_

_Thanks. Will be there._

_R_

 

Succinct, yet polite. Angela smiles, tapping open the email from Junkrat.

 

 _To: angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From: jamison.fawkes@overwatch.mil.uk  
Subject: RE: Physical Training – Schedule_

_Training best not be as boring as induction. Felt like I was gonna explode from being so bloody BORED._

Angela laughs reading this. She can picture Junkrat clearly, sitting at a desk in the classroom twitching like mad from having to sit through hours of presentations. He was twitchy enough during his medical exam, but even that would’ve been more engaging than the induction. She types out a reply to him.

_To: jamison.fawkes@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From: angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk  
Subject: RE: Physical Training – Schedule_

_Isn’t that a normal feeling for you?_

Angela sends this off before dinner, aware that it isn’t a hugely professional communication to send to a new colleague but reasonably sure Junkrat won’t mind. She checks her phone again after she’s eaten to see a new email has come through from him.

 

 _To: angela.ziegler@overwatch.mil.uk_  
_From: jamison.fawkes@overwatch.mil.uk  
Subject: RE: Physical Training – Schedule_

_Exploding? Yes. From boredom? NO!!!_

 

Oh dear. Angela is grinning while she types out her reply.

 

_If you can survive the next few days, I will endeavour to make training as fun as possible! ☺_

That’s probably a bit better. She refreshes her emails before taking a shower and then again afterwards, but nothing comes through. Angela’s phone doesn’t buzz with Junkrat’s response until she’s in bed reading an hour or so later.

 

_That’s a pretty big if but as it’s you doc I’ll do my best!_

Angela is charmed by this but feels a pang of guilt, too, thinking about Winston having to conduct the induction in the first place. As boring as it is for Junkrat it’s also an additional responsibility on poor Winston, who gets lumbered with even more paperwork than she does.

_Make sure you do your best for Winston as well!_  she writes, easing some of her guilt. Junkrat’s response comes through quickly this time, just as she’s ready to switch off the bedside lamp to get some sleep.

_Lol will do. Cheers doc!_

Angela is smiling when she puts her phone aside. If Junkrat’s emails are anything to go by, training is probably going to be even more entertaining than she thought.

The weather is as cool and rainy as it was over the weekend during the next few days, which is convenient while she’s working from home. Just as Angela thinks the English summer is already over before they’ve even hit August, however, the temperature decides to ramp up again on Thursday morning, and the underground train is hot and stuffy as she makes her way back to HQ. All the weather reports on her phone detail an incoming heatwave throughout England. Luckily she’s going to be spending most of this heatwave in an air-conditioned environment, so it seems like she’s commuting to London at just the right time.

The newbies are waiting for her in reception. As per instruction they are suitably dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and comfortable shoes. Angela rounds them into the elevator so they can head down to HQ’s training facility.

“So, how was your induction?” she asks them. The collective _ugh_ that follows makes her chuckle into her hand.

“Brain-meltingly _boring_ ,” Junkrat groans.

“Winston is real nice and all but I’m sorry, there is _no way_ of making health and safety regulations interesting,” Lúcio says. “Doesn’t help that we had to share yesterday’s presentation with some of the new guys from… what was it, finance?”

Junkrat groans even louder at this, clawing at his own face. “We spent an entire hour going over car parking arrangements because _Dave_ kept asking questions. An entire hour! JUST GET THE BLOODY TUBE!”

Angela doesn’t hide her laugh this time. Their financial department has a reputation for its staff being quite … pernickety, to put it politely. Even Roadhog is shaking his head.

“It was tedious,” he grunts. “No bearing on what we’ve been employed for at all.”

“I’m sure Winston finds it just as tedious,” Angela says, sympathetically. “Everyone has to go through it and I don’t think any of us enjoyed the induction period, honestly. On a positive note, you’re now ready to move on to the interesting stuff. No more presentations!”

They all puff out a unified sigh of relief, and Angela is excited for them as they reach the basement. The training facility here is a large area split off into two main parts – an extensive practice range and a thoroughly kitted out gym. Lúcio, Junkrat and Roadhog all have varying physical abilities, making it essential to note their strengths and weaknesses so that missions can be appropriately delegated. Angela herds them into the gym to begin some cardio exercises, attending them individually to get them wired up for monitoring. This seems to be well within Lúcio’s comfort zone but Roadhog is a little more furtive about getting on the treadmill.

“This isn’t a race,” Angela assures him, patting his arm once she’s fixed a band around his bicep. “Just go at whatever speed you find comfortable.”

Roadhog nods before starting to jog at a very careful pace. Angela looks down at her tablet as the corresponding app becomes populated with various numbers, pleased by the convenience of having this information collated electronically. It’ll give her a good indication of their general fitness levels without needing to waste time making notes.

When she heads over to Junkrat, Angela stares at him. He grins obliviously at her.

“Your face is dirty,” she says.

“Oh, er, is it?” Junkrat laughs nervously. “Hadn’t noticed.”

Angela fishes in the pocket of her labcoat for her travel-sized handwipes. She whips one out, making him flinch.

“Clean, please,” she instructs, remaining stern in the face of Junkrat’s obvious aversion to this. He takes the wipe with a grumble and cleans himself, shoving it away when he’s done.

“There,” he huffs.

“Thank you.” Angela takes it from him with a smile. “How have your eyes felt, by the way?”

Junkrat softens a little at this. “Better,” he concedes, looking away from her when the treadmill prompts him to enter his age and weight. “Not stinging anymore.”

“Wonderful. They’re even clearer than the last time I saw you so the drops must be working.”

Junkrat smiles when he looks back at her, though it’s still sort of begrudging.

“Thanks, doc.”

“Not at all.” Angela straightens up, clearing her throat. “Now, let’s have a look and see how you manage on here.”

She stands back, watching Junkrat critically as he walks. It’s a strong pace that’s made jarring from his pegleg, and while he moves with confidence Angela can see that his mobility is limited. She frowns, knowing there’s no workaround for this that wouldn’t involve a new leg. Hopefully it won’t inhibit him too much when it comes to the more intense workouts she has planned.

Angela takes them through more cardio exercises throughout the day. Lúcio excels in the pacer test and Junkrat’s general fitness is satisfactory despite his inability to run. Even Roadhog is able to move relatively quickly in short bursts, and while he requires regular breaks, he copes better than Angela had anticipated. She’s happy with their performance when the end of the day comes, dismissing them early so she can spend the rest of her shift updating their medical profiles. Angela also needs to formulate individual fitness programmes for them – something more intense for these first few weeks in preparation for any upcoming missions, and then a regular workout regime to maintain their physical fitness during periods of downtime.

This is easy for Lúcio and Roadhog, but Angela sits at her desk in the training facility’s office and stews over what exactly she should do for Junkrat. He didn’t struggle with anything today but working out in a gym isn’t nearly the same as deployment to an unknown area on unknown terrain. None of the other agents with prosthetics are at nearly the same disadvantage. She worries about how he’s going to move around the battlefield when, not if, he’s needed in a fight.

It’s almost six o’clock when Angela is finishing up, having left Junkrat’s programme as a job for tomorrow. London is stifling when she leaves HQ. Home is probably going to be stifling too, a thought which occurs to her just as she settles on the air-conditioned train. By the time it reaches her stop Angela doesn’t particularly want to get off, dreading the blanket of heat she knows will hit her when she enters the house.

Thankfully it doesn’t turn out to be so suffocating when Angela does arrive home, but unfortunately the weather reports coming in the next day indicate that the temperature is going to soar even higher. Angela grimaces as she reads them, hoping that this is just the British press’ usual hyperbole, but the sun is scorching overhead when she leaves the underground. Angela is sweating by the time she greets the newbies, but they’re all so eager to get started that she’s able to forget about the terrible heat outside.

Once they’re back in the gym Angela explains what will be covered today – weights and core exercises, not as a competition but to measure their physical strength. Junkrat’s grin sharpens like he’s especially excited for this, rubbing his hands together like he can’t wait. Angela stops him before he joins the other two with a tap on his shoulder. He blinks around at her.

“Something wrong?” Junkrat asks, looking confused. When she narrows her eyes at him he frowns back at her, annoyed.

“Oh c’mon, doc, really?”

“Yes,” Angela says, procuring the packet of handwipes from yesterday. “Really.”

Junkrat makes an irritated sound before hurriedly scrubbing his face. It makes sense that he was spilling his drink everywhere on their night out when he can’t even keep himself clean. What on earth is he doing that’s making him so dirty every time she sees him? Does he simply not bathe? He doesn’t seem to stink of body odour if that’s the case – just of diesel, like he did in the pub last week. Perhaps he has some sort of vehicle-related hobby after work.

“Better?” he asks, pushing the used wipe back at her. Angela sighs.

“Acceptable,” she says, waving him off. “Go on, I’ll be over in a moment.”

Push-ups are the first order of the day. Lúcio’s cardiovascular capabilities far outshine his physical strength meaning that unfortunately he struggles through them. Junkrat, on the other hand, breezes through his, though as Lúcio points out he does have quite an advantage.

“Seriously? Come on, man, he’s got a cybernetic,” Lúcio says, frowning at Junkrat’s arm.

“We tend to measure strength including any cybernetic enhancements, but I understand your point,” Angela says. Junkrat stops and stands up, smirking at them both.

“Oh, you want me to do them with one arm? Shoulda said.”

Angela and Lúcio watch with wide eyes as Junkrat quite suddenly disengages his metal arm, sets it carefully on the floor, and resumes the push-ups with his right bicep tucked behind his back.

Wow _._

“Show-off,” Roadhog grunts. Junkrat just laughs, a breathy sound as he’s concentrating on maintaining his balance. When he can’t do anymore he stands up, wiping his human arm over his forehead to catch some of the sweat that’s collected there.

“S’too hot,” Junkrat says, pulling off his shirt. He straightens up and smirks at Angela while still catching his breath. “How was that then? Alright for you, Miss Mercy?”

Angela can’t say anything with the other two here, but she is actually very impressed.

“Yes, I suppose that was alright,” she sighs instead, grinning when Junkrat scoffs at her.

“Y’gotta be kidding me! Tch, some people are never satisfied!” he says, reengaging his cybernetic arm. Really, Angela thinks he has every right to be cocky – no wonder his abs are so toned when he’s strong enough to do one-armed push-ups like that. Not that she’s been looking, of course.

Roadhog is unable to do his push-ups without the use of raised benches due to the size of his belly. When he does, he outperforms Junkrat by a considerable margin, which is about what Angela was expecting.

“Gosh,” she says, when Roadhog finally stands back up. “I think we have a winner.”

“What?!” Junkrat cries at her. Lúcio looks similarly affronted.

“You told us it wasn’t a competition!”

“We can’t all be winners,” Roadhog says, smugly. Angela tries to stop laughing so she can assure them both that it was indeed just a joke, and then they’re all laughing as well, watching her trying to compose herself.

After a good break and hydration, bench presses are the last exercises before lunch.  Lúcio’s upper body strength is evidently his weakest point as he’s unable to complete as many as the other two. Junkrat exceeds Angela’s expectations here thanks again to his cybernetic, but Roadhog is stronger than both of them combined. He’s able to lift the heaviest weight in the gym without issue. He might even be stronger than Reinhardt, a feat Angela had considered impossible until today. These Junkers are nothing if not surpassing expectation!

“When you’ve returned from lunch we’ll go through the obstacle course,” Angela says, grouping them together when the bench presses are done. “That’ll be a true test of your endurance.”

The boys head up to the cafeteria and Angela checks her phone to find that Lena has texted her. The timing is perfect - she’s able to meet her at the coffee shop for lunch before heading back down for the afternoon training. Everyone is in good spirits from a productive morning and having a decent break, and Angela is delighted to see how much they enjoy the obstacle course despite how physically demanding it is.

“Gosh, you’ve all done so well,” she tells them, handing out cups of ice cold water when they’ve finished. Lúcio’s shirt is off too despite the air-conditioning in the gym and he takes the water gratefully, gulping it down.

“Thanks doc,” he gasps out, beaming at her. “This is way more rewarding than the induction. No disrespect to Winston, just – man, it feels good to push yourself!”

Angela smiles. “I understand that. Being part of Overwatch means there’s a constant expectation to challenge and improve yourself – to be the best that you can be. Seeing all of you working so hard makes me feel very positive about your future here with us.”

Lúcio looks touched by this. So does Junkrat, to be fair, and while Roadhog is harder to read with that mask covering most of his face, his shoulders soften a little like he is, too.

“Anyway, I think now is a good time to finish,” Angela says. “I know it’s a little early but you’ve earned it.”

The boys pull their shirts back on and Lúcio bids them goodbye. Angela is tapping away on her tablet when Junkrat walks over to her. He grins when she looks up at him, hands in his pockets and face flushed from all the exercise.

“Wanna join us for some bevvies?”

“Oh,” Angela says. She wasn’t expecting to be invited out. “Thank you for asking, but I don’t think I can today.”

“Aw. Lots to do?”

“Not too much, but enough to keep me here for a while yet.”

Junkrat pulls his hands from his pockets, scratching his human arm with metal fingers.

“Could always join us later on if ya wanted,” he suggests. “It is Friday after all!”

Angela would love to take him up on this. It’s such a pleasant surprise to be invited out for some casual Friday drinks, but their fitness programmes need to be completed before next week. She shakes her head.

“It’s probably best if I pass. Thank you, though, I do appreciate the offer.”

“Alright,” Junkrat says, looking a little put out. “Guess we’ll see ya next week?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then. Have fun tonight – but make sure you get some decent rest, too. The practice range will be even tougher than what we’ve done in the gym so far.”

Angela looks over his shoulder to see Roadhog over by the exit waiting for him. She lowers her voice anyway so only he can hear. “You’ve also set quite a bar for yourself today, Junkrat, so I’m hoping to be similarly impressed next week.”

Junkrat’s eyes widen at this. He breathes out a laugh like he can’t quite believe she’s just complimented him.

“Well, alright then!” he says, face sharpening into a look of determination. “I won’t letcha down, doc!”

He seems sufficiently challenged by her compliment, just as Angela intended. She waves him away before heading into the office, pleased with herself when she sits down to commence work. Now that she’s got a better picture of Junkrat’s capabilities it’s much easier to plan a regime for him, but Angela still can’t quite get over those one-armed push-ups earlier - how strong he is despite his deceptively slender physique. She grins thinking about how offended Junkrat looked when she refused to praise him earlier. Looks like she was right – training _has_ been entertaining, though she’s happy she was able to compliment him after all.

The newbies’ programmes are finished just before seven o’clock. Angela is satisfied from being so productive, but when she gets home to a house that’s much hotter than it was yesterday her good mood wanes somewhat. It’s now too late in the evening to call up the engineers for her faulty air-conditioning units, so she drags a couple of fans upstairs in the hopes that it’ll cool the temperature.

Hours later when she’s lying naked in bed, sweating and unable to sleep, Angela wonders if she should’ve accepted Junkrat’s offer after all. She would’ve been exhausted going out for drinks after such a long day at work, but being tired out in London seems preferable to her current condition, lying wide awake at 3:48am because her bedroom is still too damned stuffy. Next time she’ll definitely say yes.

The weekend comes and goes. Angela gets a few hours of sleep during the day but there are no call-out engineers available on Saturday, meaning she’s still without air-conditioning while the temperature remains high. Even looking online to buy new units is fruitless as everywhere is totally out of stock. None of the stores locally have any, either - a side effect of living in a country so ill-equipped to deal with heatwaves – so Angela buys a few more electric fans instead and tries to keep the curtains drawn as much as possible while she’s in the house.

Having slept terribly once again on Sunday, Angela is grateful to be back on a cool train to London  on Monday morning, and treats herself to an iced coffee before meeting the newbies in reception once again. It’s going to be another busy week but with their fitness programmes completed, Angela has three less jobs to do, so she can spend all of Monday introducing them to the practice range – though not before taking Junkrat aside once again.

“Have we gotta go through this every damn time?” he asks, scowling at the handwipe being held out in front of him.

“It would appear so,” Angela says.

Junkrat rolls his eyes. Once his face isn’t smeared with grime she leads him over to the entrance of the practice range. It’s a large area that’s populated with some automated training bots and therefore suitable for testing mobility and weaponry. Over the next week Angela will be studying them individually to get a better picture of their combative capabilities. She guides them through the range before handing over three pistols to get started, and the boys share a look of confusion.

“For target practice,” Angela explains. Lúcio studies the gun like it’s an alien object, and Junkrat’s nose is wrinkled, holding it away from his body like he’s repulsed by it.

“I’m no good with guns,” he says.

“Yeah, I’m uh- I’m not so good either,” Lúcio laughs.

“Well, yes,” Angela says. “That’s why you’re going to participate in some target practice.”

“Is it optional?” Roadhog asks.

“Compulsory I’m afraid. Everyone needs to know how to wield a basic pistol in the event of an emergency.”

Junkrat squints at her. “Where’s my frag launcher?”

“Up in the engineering department, along with your sonic amplifier, and your scrap gun,” Angela says, nodding at Lúcio and Roadhog respectively. “I’ll be handing them back to you tomorrow, so for today these pistols will have to do.”

This elicits a drawn out sigh from all of them, but Angela remains firm and ushers them along with a smile. They weren’t lying – neither Junkrat nor Lúcio have very good aim though they’re a little better after several rounds with stationary targets. Roadhog isn’t bothered about using the pistol, probably because his own gun requires a good degree of skill, but it’s clear they’re all out of their comfort zone with this. Angela praises them for their efforts when training is over, hoping that positive feedback will encourage them to keep practicing, and they seem happier for it afterwards.

The next day all three of them are excited to receive their proper weapons and are already in the practice range awaiting her arrival. After Lúcio and Roadhog have been given theirs, Angela holds Junkrat’s frag launcher away from him when he reaches for it, almost making him stumble. She’s holding a handwipe in her other hand. When Junkrat spots it the groan he gives is so melodramatic she has to bite back a laugh.

“You _really_ enjoy tormenting me like this, don’tcha?” he says, scratching a hand through his hair.

“As much as your skin enjoys being clean. You know that the solution to this is by bathing once a day, don’t you?”

“Who’s got time for that?!” Junkrat scoffs. She can tell he’s on the verge of being really annoyed but Angela lifts her eyebrows at him and his face collapses into something pleading instead. “Alright, alright, I got it, I’ll – do the thing, whatever! _Please_ can I have my frag launcher now?!”

Angela surrenders it with a sigh, smiling helplessly as Junkrat bounds over to join the others with it hugged to his chest. What a case he is!

Lúcio is the first to be evaluated this week. There’s a viewing deck which overlooks the practice range, and Angela watches him through the reinforced glass window as he skates around the bots below. He moves so gracefully that watching him is interesting enough to take Angela’s mind off how tired she is, but when lunchtime comes she’s definitely in need of a coffee. By now the two who aren’t being evaluated are capable of getting on with training themselves – another job Angela doesn’t have to worry about – but she’s wishing she wasn’t so damned tired all the time. Lúcio’s evaluation in the practice range comes to an end, and when it’s Roadhog’s turn the next day it’s still a sweltering 33 degrees in the city. There seems to be no end to this heatwave in sight.

It’s frustrating because part of the reason why she relocated to England was specifically to avoid this kind of weather, aside from also needing to be close to London for work. While a heatwave is rarer here than elsewhere the entire country struggles to cope whenever one does strike. It isn’t so bad spending the day in an air-conditioned office, but the house has been stifling every time she’s come home this week, and Angela has subsequently spent every evening sweating a lot and getting very little sleep.

By Thursday she’s exhausted. This is especially frustrating as it’s Junkrat’s turn for assessment, and she’s been looking forward to seeing what he can do all week. Still, she’s not going to let a few bad nights affect her work, so Angela chugs an iced coffee and puts a big smile on her face when she greets them down in the practice range. Junkrat managed to avoid her yesterday morning, fleeing while she was preoccupied talking to Roadhog prior to his evaluation, but when Lúcio and Roadhog head off to the gym for their warm-up he stands and faces Angela with folded arms.

His face, as usual, is filthy.

The caffeine has invigorated Angela enough to match his poise. She straightens up, both of them staring each other down as though they’re about to draw. Angela’s hand dips into her pocket. Junkrat drums his fingers on his arms. He challenges her with a grin that she immediately returns.

“Something on my face, doc?”

“You could say that.”

Junkrat narrows his eyes like he’s daring her to come closer, so she does. His eyebrows lift up a little like he wasn’t expecting this but he’s still grinning at her, standing his ground in this great battle of wills.

“Oh, I’m _sure_ it’s nothing,” he purrs.

“Mm. I thought you might say that.”

Angela quickly reaches up so she can scrub that damned dirty face herself, but Junkrat instantly jerks his head away from her. When she tries again and he does the same thing, jutting his chin down into his chest like a cat trying to avoid being stroked, it’s as hilarious as it is infuriating. He looks so utterly ridiculous that Angela bursts out laughing, and Junkrat tips his head back, cackling like he’s won.

“Ah- _haaaaah_ , I gotcha good that time!”

“Honestly!” she huffs, putting her hands on her hips.

“Aw, m’sorry doc,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Here.”

Angela almost flinches when Junkrat suddenly leans towards her. She blinks at him – at his face that’s now just inches away from hers.

“Lemme have it,” he says. Oh, right – _now_ he’s going to let her. Angela wouldn’t normally indulge such bratty behaviour and tries to give him a scathing look, but it’s impossible to pretend that she’s really angry when Junkrat’s petulance is so amusing.

“Seeing as you have so kindly offered, it looks like I have no choice!” she says, hand darting up before he can pull away. Junkrat is laughing when Angela wipes his face, nose wrinkling and eyes squeezing shut as she rubs his skin clean. When she’s satisfied she taps his nose gently to indicate that she’s done, and Junkrat pulls away from her, beaming.

“You are absolutely hopeless!” she tells him, tutting. “Go and get yourself warmed up!”

“Cheers doc!”

And off he heads to the gym. Her mood buoyed thanks to this amusing shenanigans, Angela finds it easy to forget her tiredness by the time Junkrat is back in the practice range ready to start his assessment. She looks down at him from the viewing deck, folding her arms.

“I hope you realise I’m expecting nothing but excellence from you today!” she says, communicating with him through the practice range’s intercom.

“And that’s different to usual, is it?” he calls up. Angela laughs.

“Good point. How about perfection?”

Junkrat grins so widely it almost looks sinister. “Oh, that’s much more like it,” he says. “Bring it on!”

Fun though it is to joke with him like this, Angela has to put her work hat back on as the training bots filter into the range. She watches Junkrat carefully over the course of the morning. Despite his poor aim with the pistol he’s adept with his frag launcher, banking his shots in very creative ways to destroy the bots coming for him. For someone evidently too disorganised to bathe daily, Junkrat’s combat technique is more calculated than Angela thought. He seems to relish causing chaos in the range, grenades bouncing off every available surface, and he laughs maniacally whenever he manages to destroy more than two with one shot. It’s actually quite fun to watch him, though Angela is still doing so with a critical eye.

There are some bad habits she makes a note of and his lack of mobility remains a pertinent issue, but when it’s time to break for lunch Angela is pleased with his performance and congratulates him on a good morning. Jack and Winston come down to see how the newbies are doing when it’s time for Junkrat’s afternoon session, and while Angela is physically flagging from a week of hot days and even hotter nights, she gushes about their brilliant performance.

“Excellent news,” Winston says. “So there are no issues?”

“None that are too pressing,” Angela says. “Just a couple of things I need to address with Junkrat.”

“Ah,” Winston says, frowning. “Yes, he was a little… stubborn during the induction.”

Oh, no, that’s not good. Angela laughs it off. “I meant his mobility and a couple of his habits on the battlefield as opposed to Junkrat himself. I think he’s better suited to practical learning than theoretical.”

“More hands on, is he?” Jack asks.

“Much more, based on what I’ve seen so far,” Angela says. Winston is still frowning at her.

“Is he willing to upgrade his cybernetics yet?” he asks.

“I… have not discussed the subject anymore with him, to be honest,” she says, wishing she had a better answer than this. Jack and Winston share a very brief look, and something cold drops in Angela’s stomach.

“How’s Junkrat doing in general?” Winston asks.

“So far he has exceeded my expectations,” she says, honestly. “He’s physically fit, very strong and has shown a can-do attitude towards everything I’ve thrown at him.” Aside from washing his face once a day, Angela thinks, but she keeps that one to herself.

“Is he a team player?”

“I – I think so, yes,” she says, immediately regretting her hesitation.

“Mm.”

Angela bites her lip. She’s got this niggling feeling that Winston and Jack haven’t come down to check on the newbies but instead only on Junkrat, as they haven’t grilled her on Lúcio or Roadhog like this at all.

“I was just about to start his afternoon training when you both came down,” she say, smiling. “As his limited movement has been my biggest concern I was rather hoping to address it with him.”

“By all means, don’t let us stop you,” Jack says, smiling encouragingly. “If you don’t mind us sticking around.”

Angela guides them to the viewing deck. Junkrat is standing below them, tinkering with his frag launcher while awaiting further instruction. Part of the evaluation involves each agent having to deal with a horde of bots to see how they cope under pressure, so he’s got a stockpile of concussion mines and his trap with him in preparation for it. Angela calls down to him in warning, and when the horde comes Junkrat sails through it like it’s nothing, making easy work of all the bots filing into the range.

Angela is a little uncomfortable having Winston and Jack beside her watching him like this, wondering if Junkrat’s skills are as impressive to them as they are to her. She glances at both of them, trying to assess their judgement but unable to read their expressions. All she can do is hope that what they’re seeing is sufficient.

“Well? How’s that?” Junkrat asks when the horde is over. He’s got his hands on his hips, chest fluffed in pride from what he undoubtedly thinks is a job well done.

“Very good,” Angela says through the intercom.

“Very good? S’that all?” he asks incredulously. Angela chuckles, and she’s relieved when Winston and Jack laugh, too.

“Perhaps I was expecting more of a show,” she says, though in truth she isn’t disappointed at all. The goal of the horde exercise is to destroy the bots as quickly as possible, not to make a fireworks display out of it, but with Jack and Winston beside her Angela doesn’t want to appear soft.

Junkrat makes a very indignant sound. “Well, if there’s a round two I’ll give you one!”

“No round two, unfortunately. We need to address your lack of mobility first, as running isn’t an option.”

“You wanna see mobility, do ya? Alright. I can do that.”

Angela grins down at him, as curious by this instant assertion as she is pleased.

“Go on then,” she says. “Impress me.”

These seem to be the magic words judging by the surprised look on Junkrat’s face. He immediately grabs a couple of his concussion mines and glances between the floor and the window of the viewing deck. Angela frowns. What exactly is he planning?

“It’ll be interesting to see how his projectiles cope against a fast moving target,” Winston observes, drawing her eyes over to him. She opens her mouth to tell him about Junkrat’s performance this morning – the creativity of his technique and the skill it takes to utilise such an unusual weapon - when quite suddenly two explosions go off.

Just as she looks back out of the window Angela screams, because all of a sudden Junkrat himself comes crashing through it. Jack instantly grabs her out of the way as he lands with a hard _thud_ against the floor in front of them, and he groans, sprawled out with glass shattered around him. Angela stares down at him, so shocked that for a second she can’t move.

Grimacing, Junkrat drags himself up onto his hands and knees, shards of broken glass sliding off his shoulders. His metal arm seems to have taken the brunt of the impact but he landed with such force he's almost certainly broken something.

“Oh my god!” Angela says, letting go of Jack. She kneels beside Junkrat immediately, streaks of blood surfacing all over his body from dozens of cuts. He attempts to smile when he meets Angela’s eyes but it’s evident that he’s in a lot of pain.

“Guess I overcooked it a bit,” he says, the laugh that follows a croaky and winded sound.

“We need to get him to medical,” Angela says, whipping around to face Winston and Jack. “Tell Roadhog and Lúcio they can finish for the day!”

“I’ll call the nu--” Winston starts, but Angela cuts him off.

“No,” she says firmly. “ _I_   will take him.”

They don’t look at all impressed by this but she doesn’t have time to care about it. Lúcio and Roadhog can deal with having an early finish today, and she’ll leave Jack to worry about reporting the damage to finance, because Angela needs to get Junkrat looked over, right _now_.

 

 

*


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am going to NYC next week on vacation, so I'm hoping to have chapter 4 posted before I leave!
> 
> Once again thanks to [Muppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile) for being the best beta EVER, and to [Blue](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/175894574955/blue-blossom-blue-blossom-built-of-metal) and [EB](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/172616521070/ebsartblock-so-recently-ive-been-hooked-on-a) who drew this amazing art from chapter two!!! Thank you!!

Her first priority is to stem the bleeding before getting him on a stretcher and up to medical.

“Stay still please,” Angela snaps, when Junkrat goes to sit up. He winces as he lays back down. “If you move you might injure yourself more.”

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, still winded. “M’good at that.”

She completes the risk assessment before they’re in the elevator and is relieved to find that he isn’t bleeding excessively, nor has he sustained any major cuts. When Junkrat is safely in the emergency unit her next step is to check for embedded glass. It looks like there are fragments in his human hand and knee from where he’d moved after impact. Thankfully they’re easy to remove, so she rinses the cuts in a mild healing solution and bandages Junkrat properly, satisfied that his lacerations are only epidermal. He lifts his prosthetic arm to look at it when he's sufficiently wrapped up, and Angela can see that while some of the metal has been dented, he can flex his fingers and rotate his wrist normally.

“You seem to have come out of this remarkably well thus far,” she says, checking his eyes for dilation. “Tell me, do you often explode yourself several metres into the air and break through reinforced glass windows?”

Junkrat bites his lip.

“Well, I mean--”

“On second thought, I don't want to hear your answer to that.”

Angela is even more relieved that he’s cognisant enough to laugh at this, the sound a little less wheezy than it was down in the practice range. He doesn’t appear to be concussed based on this and his dilation, but laughing makes Junkrat wince again.

“How's your pain?" she asks, still leaning over him to assess the damage.

"Not bad," he says, a vocal shrug. Angela scowls.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"I dunno, two?” He shifts on the surgical bed and hisses. “ _Maybe_ a three?"

Junkrat is grinning up at her but Angela's eyebrows knit together, uncertain if he's playing it down or if his pain threshold is genuinely high. Somehow she wouldn't be surprised if it is.

"It's no trouble for me to give you some pain relief," she says.

"Nah, been through far worse than this," he tells her. "I – _ngh -_ appreciate it though. M’just bruised."

She glances sceptically over his bandaged body. "Okay, let's make sure you haven't broken anything before we jump to conclusions."

Angela wheels him through to get some x-rays done and sends him back to the emergency unit while waiting for the scans to appear on her tablet. She only realises how anxious she's been when the results come through and her entire body loosens with relief. Looks like Junkrat has somehow managed to get away with no broken or fractured bones, either – even his ribs are alright. His metal arm must have taken most of the impact, which is a miracle considering the force of his crash. Junkrat is very lucky to have come out of this so well.

She fixes him with a stern look when she's back in the room but he doesn't pay attention to her. He's still lying flat on the surgical bed, frowning up at his metal arm, and her stern look melts into one of concern.

"Is your arm alright?"

"Seems so," Junkrat says, still frowning at it. “Just needs some TLC I reckon.”

"I could take a look for you, if you like."

Angela smiles, allowing herself to be a little playful now that there’s no urgent worry. When Junkrat cranes his neck to look at her he narrows his eyes, but he's smiling, too. How does he make it so difficult to stay strictly professional?

"Nice try, doc, but you’re not getting your hands on it just yet,” he tells her.

"I’ll keep the offer open in case you change your mind.” She turns to look through her equipment and picks out a fine-toothed comb. "Anyway, you haven't broken or fractured anything, and the cuts are epidermal – nothing too deep or serious. I just need to make sure there're no glass particles in your hair."

Junkrat's eyes widen slightly. "You, uh. Need to comb it?"

"I do indeed," she says. Junkrat seems alarmed by this, which is understandable as his hair has never looked anything other than wild and unbrushed. Angela assures him that she'll be gentle, and when he reluctantly agrees, she combs through it cautiously to sweep away any glass. Though Junkrat's hair is tufty and in patches on his head, there's quite a lot of it, and it's very blond despite the singed tips and discolouration from being unwashed. While combing, Angela keeps an eye on his face. He grimaces whenever she comes to a knot. She's very careful not to tug, but it’s quite surprising that Junkrat doesn't seem to be coping with this nearly as well as his actual injuries, eyes squeezed shut like he’s anticipating pain.

"You should try to brush your hair once a day," Angela says softly, easing through a particularly stubborn knot.

"S'no point," he says. "It'll only get messy again."

It is becoming overwhelmingly apparent that Junkrat is really not very good at taking care of himself. When she’s confident that any lingering glass will have been removed Angela decides to continue brushing anyway, pulling the comb upwards to keep his hair in its usual flame-like style while carefully untangling the knots. Even though she knows he's brought all of this on himself, she can’t help feeling a little sorry for him. Perhaps he wouldn't have attempted something so reckless if he hadn’t been asked to impress her.

…Okay, so it’s far more likely that Junkrat _would_ have attempted something equally reckless regardless of her encouragement. But now that he’s here wrapped in bandages and covered in cuts, Angela still feels marginally responsible. She shouldn’t have goaded him just because Jack and Winston were there. His performance had been impressive enough.

She jolts out of thought when Junkrat sighs, a quiet and relaxed sound that's somewhat alien coming from him. She’d forgotten she was still brushing his hair, the comb sliding through easily without any knots to get caught on. He seems calmed by it – might even be enjoying having his hair brushed despite his discomfort earlier. Well, if it’s helping him, she may as well continue. It’s quite soothing for her, too.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to be seeing a lot of you here?" Angela says, sighing. Junkrat opens his eyes.

“Could do with more practice to be honest.” He looks up at her, upside down where she’s leaning over him. "Any other big windows I could try jumping through?”

Junkrat grins like he’s trying to needle a smile out of her. Angela hms disapprovingly. While she doesn't want to condone his behaviour, her exasperation with him is involuntarily touched with amusement.

"None that I would recommend,” she says. “Certainly none on company property, though I would advise against trying to catapult yourself through windows as a matter of course. I'll have enough paperwork to do from this one."

Junkrat's face immediately falters. "Shit," he mumbles, looking away from her. "M'sorry, doc. Didn’t mean to cause all this trouble."

Angela blinks at this unexpected contrition. She wasn’t trying to coax an apology out of him – was actually trying to make light of it, like he was. But she believes Junkrat, believes that he didn’t do this on purpose, and she’s grateful that he’s apologised, showing genuine remorse despite his playful banter. She hms again, a softer and less disapproving sound this time.

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to cover such distance from sheer propulsion alone,” she says, still combing slowly through his hair. “But this is what training is for – why we have a practice range. Why I’m here, too, so you can make these mistakes in the safest possible environment.”

This seems to lift Junkrat immediately. He grins again, albeit sheepishly.

“Cheers, doc.”

Angela does smile at him this time. “I’m starting to lose count of how many times you’ve thanked me, Junkrat. I’m only doing my job.”   

“Yeah, I know,” he laughs. He looks a little embarrassed, face having gone slightly red, so Angela puts the comb down and perches beside him on the bed. Junkrat pulls himself forwards to sit up. She reaches out when the movement makes him wince again, stopping short of holding his shoulders. She can't force him to stay lying down as he's not seriously injured, just like she can't force him to take any painkillers, but Angela wishes he'd just stay still for a little while and give his body a chance to recover.

“Phew. So, what’s the verdict?” Junkrat asks, puffed out just from sitting up. “Reckon I can leave soon?”

Angela laughs. Is he serious?

“It hasn’t even been an hour since we got you up here.”

“I know, but. S’not like I broke anything.”

“Junkrat, you’ve just catapulted yourself through a window!”

He pouts at her. “C’mon, doc, I said I was sorry!”

For a second, Angela actually considers letting him leave. The vision that follows is of him barrelling straight back into the practice range and reopening all of his wounds in the process. She shudders, shaking her head.

"Absolutely not,” she says, firmly. “I'm going to keep you in overnight."

Junkrat's face falls as though he's just been told he's grounded.

"What?! You’re joking!”

"It won't hurt to keep you in for just one evening.” Angela stands up, grabbing her tablet to book him in for the night. “I have to be sure you’re going to get enough rest to heal properly.”

Junkrat’s face contorts from absolute disappointment to petulance. He goes to fold his arms across his chest only to hiss from the pain of trying, and Angela smiles pleasantly at him.

“Looks like you’ve just proven my point.”

“Seriously? C’mon, look at me!” he says, throwing his bandaged arms out to draw her attention to his bandaged chest. “I’m _fine_!”

“You’re really not helping your case,” she says airily. “Plus, if you do stay, I’ll have no choice but to let Jack and Winston know you’re not well enough to speak to them today. I’m sure they’re keen to have words with you.”

Angela quirks her eyebrow at Junkrat like she’s challenging him to argue this – to argue this gracious olive branch when she’s already spent her afternoon taking care of him. She doesn’t feel at all bad for laying on the guilt this time. It’s for his own good!

“So, are you happy to stay?” she asks.

“Augh, yes, alright!” Junkrat snaps, surrendering. “But you best tell Roadhog what’s going on, don’t want the poor bloke worrying!”

“Thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he knows.”

Angela wheels him into the private ward so he has his own space, explaining that he’ll need to try and get some decent rest to ensure his wounds heal as quickly as possible. Junkrat isn’t happy about this, but appears to have accepted his fate for the evening and sounds resigned as he agrees to Angela’s stipulations. He still doesn’t want any pain relief, but she informs the nurse who’ll be covering the evening what to give him if he changes his mind. Angela tells him she’ll discharge him first thing tomorrow provided he’s well enough.

“Gonna go crazy sittin’ around here all night,” Junkrat grumbles. His eyes dart around the room like he’s already feeling twitchy.

“There are plenty of books to read. And a television. _And_ I can bring your phone up from the lockers so you’ll have that, too.”

She knows this won’t be enough for him, but unfortunately keeping Junkrat occupied isn’t a priority. A notification pops up on her tablet, indicating that Winston and Jack have requested a meeting with her. It will definitely be about Junkrat's condition. They’re likely on their way up to the ward right now.

“Right, I’d better get going,” Angela says. “Make sure you stay hydrated and if you need anything, notify the nurse.”

“Alright,” Junkrat says, huffily. He sits back in his new bed with a scowl. Angela gets the feeling that he’s acting bratty like this because the alternative is more embarrassment and remorse. He’s already apologised so there’s no point in making him feel worse about it, but she feels even sorrier for him now. Poor Junkrat’s going to be more bored having to spend a night in the ward than he was during any of his induction.

Nonetheless, it’s genuinely for his own good. Angela bids him a good evening so he can stew in peace, knowing he’s probably a bit sick of her company – from having a doctor punish him with a curfew like this.

“Hey, doc – before you go. Can I ask ya something real quick?”

Angela stops at the doorway and turns, surprised by the sudden change in his tone.

“Yes?”

Junkrat straightens up a little. He looks at her hopefully, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips.

“Were you impressed?”

… Really? He’s asking her _that_? Angela scoffs. If it was anyone else her answer would be an outright and immediate _no._ It should be with him, too, what with the damage and inconvenience he’s caused even taking into account her misjudged encouragement. Somehow, though, she can’t quite bring herself to say it. Not when he’s looking at her so hopefully and with that little dash of playfulness that’s so frustratingly… well, him. She thinks about it for a moment.

“Let’s just say I’m… impressed by the effort,” Angela says, “but absolutely _not_ by the method.”

Junkrat’s face lights up. She doesn’t linger in the doorway long enough to let him answer back and has to bite her lip around a huge smile as she heads out of the ward. How is it that he can cause all this trouble and still have her smiling by the end of it? Covering for his mistakes, even? God, she must be turning soft after all!

Angela manages to grab Jack and Winston just as they arrive in medical. To her relief they both look concerned rather than irritated – as they should be with one of their newest agents injured, regardless of the reason.

“Is he alright?” Jack asks. She nods.

“He’s staying in overnight so we can monitor him, make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. It’ll give his wounds a chance to heal. I’m confident he’ll be in a much better state tomorrow.”

“Thank goodness,” Winston says. “We’ve notified facilities and finance already. Should be able to get a new window fitted in no time.”

“That’s brilliant. Thank you so much for taking care of it for me.”

“Of course,” Jack says, smiling. “We’re just glad you’re both alright.”

Angela hadn’t even thought about herself. “I have your quick reflexes to thank for that,” she tells him. “But yes, unfortunately he was the victim of his own overexcitement.”

“To say the least,” Winston says. His brows are slightly furrowed, making an inkling of dread tug at Angela’s stomach. “We’ll have to have a word with him when he’s up to it.”

She knows they have every right to be angry with him for this, but they also don’t really know Junkrat, and probably assume he was trying to cause trouble on purpose. Angela knows that isn’t the case, but she isn’t sure how to explain it in a way that isn’t making excuses for him. She would hate for him to have a disciplinary when he’s only just joined the team.

“He’s certainly paying the price now,” she says, trying to find a diplomatic middle ground between condemning and forgiving. “I shouldn’t have goaded him, anyway.”

Jack shakes his head. “This isn’t on you at all, Angela. Don’t worry, we’ll talk it through with him tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Satisfied that Junkrat has escaped any chastisement this evening, Angela heads into her office to start on the paperwork that’s been generated from the day. She can’t be annoyed about it when she knows it was a genuine mistake, and as she’d told him earlier, this is exactly why Angela is here. It’s much better for something like this to happen now under her watch than on the field in the middle of a fight. It could’ve been so much worse…. and at least Junkrat did demonstrate excellent mobility, if she’s being truly honest. Not that she can tell anyone that. _Especially_ not him.

The paperwork keeps her in the office late. She’s so exhausted by the time she gets home that she just about manages to pick at some salad for dinner before collapsing in bed before nine o'clock. Even the sweltering heat isn't enough to keep Angela awake. It’s her first night of decent sleep since the heatwave started, but it also isn’t quite enough to compensate for the last week. When she's heading back in to see Junkrat the next morning she’s on her second iced coffee and quite frankly ready for this oppressively hot week to be over.

When she reaches the ward she's sort of expecting Roadhog to be here with him, but Junkrat is on his own, sitting up in his bed. Freshly bandaged and wearing a clean shirt, he’s considerably smarter than he was yesterday and even looks well rested. He’s poking at his metal arm, but glances up the moment Angela knocks against the open doorway. She smiles at the way his eyes brighten when he sees her.

“G’day, doc!”

“Good morning, Junkrat. How’re you feeling?”

"Great! Much better!" He pulls off the covers and gets out of bed, eager to demonstrate his wellbeing. “See? Absolutely fine, me - raring to go!”

Angela chuckles, pleased that he gives no indication of being in pain. “Alright, alright. Let’s have a look and see if we can get you discharged.”

She gets him sat down in her office to do some standard checks – dilation, respiratory and blood pressure – and notices that his face is abnormally clean. He’s either had a proper bath or the nurse has wiped over his face this morning. It’s odd, but there’s a tiny part of Angela that’s disappointed by this. She’s quite enjoyed their handwipe escapades this week - Junkrat’s frustrating yet almost endearing objection to having a bloody wash.

“How’s your arm?” she asks him, getting out the equipment.

“Just needed a couple of screws tightening up,” he says. “When I’m home I can have a bash at, er. Unbashing it. Y’know, the dents on it.”

“That’s very good to hear.” Angela takes a seat beside him, leaning in to check his pupils for dilation. “Did you sleep well?”

“Was so bored I didn’t have much of a choice,” Junkrat says. “I did though, slept for bloody hours after Roadie left.”

“Oh, he came up to see you?”

Junkrat snorts. “’Course. Any excuse to call me an idiot and he’s there.”

Angela has to bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling at this, not wanting to be mean. Junkrat folds his arms and sighs like he’s in a huff, but he’s grinning.

“You best not be laughing at me, Miss Mercy. Not my fault people don’t recognise my _extremely_ _complex_ and _highly sophisticated_ combat techniques.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Angela says. She was feeling pretty miserable this morning but this banter with Junkrat is really cheering her up. “I’m just happy to see that you’re alright. You know, following your _extremely complex_ and _highly sophisticated_ trip through the window.”

Junkrat squints at her. “That’s it, doc. Rub it in. Kick a man while he’s down!”

“I’m only teasing you,” she says, though his smirk indicates he already knows. Angela stands up, moving behind him ready to check his lungs. She remembers the last time she asked him to lift his shirt up. Maybe it’s just because she’s too tired to filter herself, but Angela can’t help making a little joke out of it.

“So, are you going to take your shirt off for me?” she asks him, conversationally.

Junkrat sputters.

“Wh- What?!” he says, whipping around to look at her. Angela chuckles as she holds up her stethoscope.

“I’m joking – just need to listen to your lungs.”

“Oh! R- Right, sure!” he laughs, his face having turned red. Just as Angela worries it was perhaps too inappropriate of a joke to make, Junkrat tugs his shirt off and puffs out his chest.

“There we go!” he says, chin lifted in pride. “That satisfactory for you, doctor?”

“I didn’t actually mean it,” Angela laughs. She leans down to press over his back. “It is, though. Thank you.”

There’s no trace of his petulant attitude from yesterday, but Angela is grateful for Junkrat’s good mood. Even though she’s enjoying being playful with him it’s proving difficult to stifle her yawns, and aside from the caffeine, his chatty cheerfulness is about the only thing keeping her going.

With his dilation and respiratory satisfactory, all that’s left is checking his blood pressure and then she’ll be able to mark him fit to return to work. Angela is tapping away on her tablet when an email comes through from Winston wanting to confirm Junkrat’s condition. She takes a few minutes to write out her response, struggling with formulating the right words, before pulling over the blood pressure reader and fixing the band around Junkrat’s bicep.

“You alright, doc?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hm?”

Junkrat gestures at his arm. The band is still gripped around it looking uncomfortably tight, and she’s been staring at the numbers on the monitor without actually doing anything. Oh, shit. She must’ve totally zoned out.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, rushing to note down the reading on her tablet and loosen the strap. Junkrat frowns.

“Something wrong? Y’seem a little out of it.”

“I do? Oh, it’s just- I haven’t been sleeping all that well recently.” Angela is embarrassed that her tiredness is not only noticeable, but apparently affecting her ability to perform simple tasks as well. “I’m alright.”

She tries to brighten her face with a big smile but Junkrat clearly isn’t convinced.

“What is it? Insomnia?”

“Sort of.” She busies herself packing away the equipment. “It’s because of this heatwave.”

“Ah, right. I gotcha. You do look a bit tired.”

Wonderful, Angela thinks. “I haven’t gotten much sleep all week,” she explains, smiling apologetically at him. She should’ve made more of an effort with her makeup today.

“Hm.” Junkrat drums his chin. “S’been pretty hot, hasn’t it? For the UK.”

“It certainly has.”

“Yeah, seen lotsa people complaining about it. This is the perfect sorta temperature for me though. I love it hot and sunny, feels more like home when it’s like this.”

Angela looks at Junkrat – at his carefree smile and bronzed skin. He probably tans the second he goes outside. Someday she’d like to go on a beach holiday and see if she can get a tan herself, having always been a fan of the sunkissed look, but that’s going to be a long way off now that work has started up again.

“You not so good in the heat then?” Junkrat asks, apparently still curious. Angela sighs.

“Terrible in it, actually. I even have air-conditioning units at home, unlike most other houses here in England, but they’ve been broken for weeks now and I haven’t been able to get anyone out to fix them.”

“Oh right. S’pose it’s pretty grim here most of the time, isn’t it?”

“The average temperature is definitely much lower than this, but I think the British way is to grit your teeth and struggle through anyway,” Angela says. Junkrat scratches his chin.

“Sounds about right. But, uh. I could always take a look at it, if ya wanted, maybe.”

And now she’s so tired she’s hearing things. Angela sits back down when the equipment is stored away, tapping away on her tablet in preparation for his discharge.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” she says, looking up at him.

“Your aircon,” Junkrat says, scratching at his cheek now instead. “Could always come and take a look for ya.”

Angela blinks at him, astonished by this sudden and incredibly random suggestion. She puts her tablet down.

“Gosh. That – it’s awfully kind of you to offer but I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” she says, just as astonished at how automatically she declines it.

“You sure? I’m pretty good at tinkering with stuff. Quite enjoy it, actually.”

Junkrat’s expression is open and relaxed, but Angela sits back in her seat and wonders if there’s some sort of catch here that she’s missing. It makes sense that he’d have experience tinkering with appliances if he’s able to build his own weapon – his own body parts, even - but it feels like second nature to politely reject this kind of helpful offer. She’s definitely spent too long living in Britain.

“I… I just. I’d hate for you to have to come so far out of your way,” she says, mouth on autopilot. Luckily, he laughs.

“You’re only an hour away. S’hardly outta my way, doc. I remember from our night out.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” she says, aware that her face is beginning to feel uncomfortably warm.

“S’no trouble for me,” Junkrat says, casually. “Especially if it might help ya sleep better in this heat.”

Angela has no reason to doubt his intentions here – or even his capability – but for some reason she still hesitates. Damn it, why is she fighting this? She’s been dying to get someone to come out and look at those bloody units, and now that Junkrat is offering it’s like she’s going out of her way to be aggressively polite!

“Are you… sure?” she says, needing to give him one last chance to back out of this even though he’s the one who offered in the first place. Junkrat’s eyebrows knit together.

“Look - I broke that window yesterday, right? I can’t make any promises, but if nothing else I can have a good crack at fixing it. Sorta like compensation, or - I dunno, equivalent exchange or… something.”

Junkrat ruffles a hand through his hair like he’s struggling to communicate how simple this is. Angela cringes, feeling silly for turning what should be an easy and very grateful yes into such a big deal.

“I’ll – I’ll gladly reimburse you for the train if you were to come and look. And for your time,” she adds hurriedly. He waves his hand at her.

“Eh, we can work all that out later. You want me to come take a look, then?”

His eyebrows lift up like he’s willing her to say yes already. Angela holds his gaze for a moment before allowing her shoulders to relax.

“If you’re sure… yes please, I really would,” she says, finally. Even Junkrat puffs out a sigh of relief.

“Phew! Thank god, we got there in the end!”

“Sorry,” Angela says, knowing he’s only teasing but embarrassed nonetheless. “I just- it’s so kind of you. I think I’d sort of given up on getting them fixed, to be honest.”

“Nah, don’t you worry. We’ll get it sorted, no problem.”

“Thank you,” she says, softly. “I really do appreciate it.”

Junkrat shakes his head. “S’alright. Can’t have our Mercy suffering in the heat, can I? Could always swing by later on today if ya wanted, see if we can get it sorted ready for the weekend.”

She laughs at this, amazed by how eager he is to help. “I haven’t even discharged you yet!”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna do that now, right? … _Right_?”

Junkrat’s face pulls into a sort of hopeful grimace, making her laugh again.

“I am, yes. But tonight is no good anyway, not when I’ve got to get you back on track in the gym and check in with the other two. It’s going to be a busy day.”

“Alright then. Hmm.” Junkrat squints up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. “How about… Saturday?” he says, looking back at her. “Got no plans during the day.”

Gosh, he really is keen. Angela can’t quite believe this. It’s a very pleasant disbelief, though, and even if he’s only actually trying to alleviate his guilt from yesterday – essentially repay the favour of being looked after – Angela is insurmountably excited by the prospect of an air-conditioned house.

“Okay, yes. Shall we go over the details later? I’d better get you discharged so we can head back down to the practice range. Lúcio and Roadhog will have finished their warm-ups by now.”

“Fine by me, doc! Can’t wait to get outta here and back to the good stuff!”

While still physically exhausted she’s almost as buoyant as he is once he’s discharged. They head down to the training facility together, discussing what train he’ll need to get and when he’s thinking of arriving. Junkrat doesn’t seem keen to lock in any particular time, which makes her a little nervous, but she’s so grateful he’s even offered that it doesn’t feel too important.  She just hopes it won’t be too late in the day. The house will need a good tidy this evening either way.

The boys have indeed finished their exercises when they arrive, and when Junkrat immediately beelines to Roadhog, Angela heads over to Lúcio, who’s sitting on the edge of the treadmill on his phone.

“Hey, doc!” he greets, standing up. “Everything okay? Winston told us what happened.”

“Yes, everything’s fine thank you,” she says. “I’m so sorry to have abandoned you yesterday.”

“No worries. Getting home early meant I was able to videocall Hana, so it worked out pretty great.”

Angela tries to contain her excitement hearing this, expression trained into something she hopes is neutral.

“Really! How’s she getting on out there?”

Lúcio sucks in a breath. “Honestly? I dunno, man, she thinks everything’s a little too quiet. Apparently there’ve only been a couple of rogue omnics out in the streets causing trouble, but… y’know when you just get that feeling?”

All too well, Angela thinks. “She’s worried that the worst is to come?”

“Yeah, exactly. I get that she’s got nothing to worry about so far but I dunno. Something’s not right.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s no good worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. May not happen, either.”

Lúcio looks reassured by this but she decides it best to change the subject anyway. “We’ll be informed if anything changes. Aside from work, how was she?”

Almost instantly Lúcio’s entire countenance relaxes, his worry flipped into warmth. “Oh, she’s having a _blast_ out there. Hitting all the arcades, keeps winning a bunch of – plushies, I think they’re called? Those cute cuddly toys?”

“Yes, her plushies,” Angela sighs, grinning. “It’s good to hear that she’s enjoying herself during her downtime. Has she mentioned any of the others at all?”

“Uh, I think she’s been hanging out with Genji and Zenyatta. Mostly she’s been showing me the stuff she’s winning at the arcade and all the food she’s eating.” Lúcio rolls his head back. “God, it looks so GOOD. You think we might be sent out there sometime?”

Angela hasn’t been to Japan for a couple of years now. The last time was after Genji had damaged one of his spinal chips on a particularly dangerous mission, which had necessitated a business-class flight straight over to attend him.

“We might be sent out there in the future, yes, but only if it’s necessary,” she says. “I wouldn’t mind going back sometime too, though. It’s a wonderful country to visit.”

“I’ll bet. Japan and South Korea have been on my list for a long time.”

Angela tries not to grin too hard at this. She’ll have to text Lena later to fill her in on this exciting gossip.

“I don’t expect you’ll be deployed anywhere for a little while, sadly, but I’m sure you’ll love it when you do get around to visiting Japan.”

“No katsu curry for me yet then,” Lúcio sighs. Angela smiles at him.

“I know a few good Japanese places in London. Anyway, let’s get back to training. We’re a little behind schedule after yesterday.”

She asks Lúcio to head into the practice range, then turns to call for Junkrat only to see him gesturing excitedly at Roadhog over by the free weights. He’s still shirtless, of course, and covered in bandages, but it’s a relief to see him back to his usual self. They come over when she calls again, Junkrat chipper and a little pink faced with Roadhog by his side, quiet as always.

Angela gets Lúcio and Roadhog teamed up in the practice range before guiding Junkrat through some gentle cardio. He can’t do anything too intense with his injuries, but he seems ecstatic to be doing anything at all, which she supposes is natural after being in the ward all night. Winston comes down shortly before lunch to check up on him, taking Angela aside briefly while she’s assessing Junkrat on the treadmill.

“How’s he doing?”

“Mostly back to normal,” Angela says. She lifts her tablet to show Winston all the stats from this morning. “Next week we’ll be able to put him back on the regular programme, but for today I think it’s better if he sticks with easier exercises.”

“Sounds good to me,” Winston says. He hums in approval as he looks over the tablet. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I had ten minutes with him before lunch?”

Angela’s stomach immediately tightens. “Not at all,” she says, not exactly having a choice. She watches as Winston calls him off the treadmill, stomach tightening again at the scowl that appears on Junkrat’s face. He catches her eye as Winston leads them out of the gym and Angela smiles sympathetically at him, feeling stupid when she automatically lifts her hand to give him a little wave. His scowl eases a bit, at least, but he can probably guess what’s coming.

Angela bites her lip. Winston will take the fairest approach possible, as he always does when any one of the team has needed a talking to before, but Angela wishes she hadn’t allowed Junkrat to get so ahead of himself in the first place. Hopefully it’ll be a verbal warning rather than a disciplinary. It’s enough that he’s injured, suffering the physical consequences of his actions. He shouldn’t need a black mark on his record for a mistake where nobody else got hurt.

There’s no use worrying about it, anyway. Angela tries to put it out of her mind, going over to the practice range to let the boys know it’s time to break for lunch. She feels very tired as she heads up to the cafeteria afterwards, ready for food and even readier for sleep.

 _Lúcio’s been talking to Hana_ , she writes, texting Lena as soon as she’s sitting down with her tray. _SO cute. We must catch up next week!_

The cafeteria is quiet – typical for a Friday when most of HQ seems to work from home. This apparently includes Lena today. Angela is used to eating on her own most of the time but she’s rather enjoyed meeting up with her during the week, chatting over coffee while they have lunch together.

 _Oh my god!! What did he say??_  Lena texts back, almost instantly.

_He’s worried about her, which is cute, but also commented on the plushies, which was doubly cute._

Angela and Jack had helped Hana pack away her things when she moved out of her Overwatch dormitory, and an entire box had been devoted to stuffed toys. Arcade prizes, apparently - Hana’s second pride and joy after her retro gaming consoles.

_That’s adorable!! Oh doc I can’t wait until they’re back from Japan, we need to all go out again. Halloween is way too far away._

Gosh, it truly is. They’ve only just hit August. Angela doesn’t think she can wait until then for another fun night out with everyone and texts Lena saying as much.

 _Ohhh, I can’t go out this evening or tomorrow cause I’ve got a date night planned with Emily_ , Lena says in her reply. _But we could always go out during the day if you wanted? Saturday shopping trip? ☺_

Angela balks at this. Unbelievable! The one time she actually has plans and that’s just when Lena invites her to go shopping? With how tired she’s been all week it’s doubtful she would’ve been up to it anyway, but damn, of all the clashes to have!

 _I’d love to but I can’t this weekend ☹_ _Next?_

_Haha sure thing, works for me! Let’s do it!_

Angela just sighs. At least she didn’t ask why. If Lena knew Junkrat was coming over – even for something as innocuous as attempting to repair some appliances – she can’t imagine it going down very well.

The rest of the day proves as busy as she expected, but it’s made much better knowing that she’s hopefully getting some quality sleep this weekend. It’s a good thing that she discussed the trains with Junkrat earlier as she doesn’t get a chance to talk to him properly again, too occupied with Lúcio in the practice range to do more than check up on him every now and then. She manages to catch him just before he and Roadhog are leaving for the day, all four of them bundling into the elevator to head up from the basement.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to take any painkillers?” Angela asks, checking Junkrat over. He’s gone the entire day without wearing a shirt, which proves to be a good thing - it means she can see he hasn’t bled through any of his bandages.

“Nah, no need,” he says. “Thanks to you ordering me to take it easy.”

They share a smile. Angela is relieved that Junkrat sounds grateful for this as opposed to resentful. She wants to ask how it went with Winston, too, but can’t with Lúcio and Roadhog in here as well.

“Make sure you continue to take it easy tonight,” she says instead. “That goes for all of you. I think you’ve earned a good rest after having such a brilliant week.”

They chatter until the elevator dings at reception, Angela handing over a fresh shirt so Junkrat can dress himself before leaving. She’s really flagging now that the day – and week – is finally over, and doesn’t do a good job of masking her exhaustion as she says goodbye. Lúcio pulls out his phone the moment he’s out of the building, almost certainly so he can contact Hana, and then she’s left in reception with the Junkers. Roadhog is unreadable as usual with his mask on, but Junkrat is positively beaming at her. It’s enough to perk her up again despite being so tired she could curl up on the floor and sleep right here, in this last vestige of air-conditioning before having to brave the searing heat of the city.

“So! I’ll be seeing ya tomorrow then!” Junkrat says. He sounds quite excited about it, which is touching considering he’s essentially coming over to do her a favour.

“You certainly will be,” Angela says. “Just let me know when you’re at the station and I’ll come and pick you up.”

“Sure, sure. Oh, before I forget – give us your number.”

“My number?”

“Er.” Junkrat’s smile wavers. He scratches his neck. “I mean, if that’s alright.”

“Oh!” she says, realising what he's asking for. It’s been ages since she needed to give out her personal phone number. “Yes, of course, sorry.”

When they’ve exchanged a confirmation text, she says goodbye for a final time before they split off outside HQ. Angela slouches in the cool train carriage, managing to have a little doze between London and her station. Home is suffocating when she arrives. She’s so used to it being like this that she doesn’t feel nearly as irritated when she gets inside and strips off her work dress. Now that Junkrat will hopefully be providing a permanent reprieve from the heat it somehow feels more tolerable, though it could also be her body finally starting to acclimatise to the weather. She won’t acclimatise nearly enough to go without air-conditioning, though. If it can’t be fixed, Angela is determined that by the end of the weekend she will pay however much money it takes to get some new units instead. Sometimes it’s simply worth coughing up.

While stifling, the house isn’t as messy as she’d feared – likely a result of spending most of her time sitting in front of fans rather than doing any redecorating. She’s got a bunch of laundry to catch up on and some dishes that need doing, but once that’s done it’s back to lazing in the sitting room with a fan pointed at her face. Angela feels like she’s properly relaxed for the first time this week, splayed on the couch in nothing but shorts and a loose vest. She’ll have a shower later to rinse off the sweat before getting into bed. For now, it’s simply bliss to sit and unwind.

Angela reflects on what a week it’s been - demanding but fulfilling despite the incident on Thursday. A whirlwind, as she’s come to expect from being a part of Overwatch, though she allows herself to hope that perhaps next week won’t be quite so dramatic.

She’s also, privately, a little excited for Junkrat’s visit tomorrow. When was the last time she had company? Feels like it’s been months since she had anyone come to visit her, what with being so wrapped up in work, house renovation, and travelling to London for the few dates she managed before Overwatch took over. It might’ve even been a year, actually. Angela can’t remember entertaining anyone since she moved here. Even Lena hasn’t come to visit her, though that’s Angela’s fault for having never thought to invite her. She couldn’t, though, not with the house still unfinished.

Besides that, Junkrat isn’t coming as a guest - it’s more of a functional visit. She can’t imagine him minding the unpacked storage units in the sitting room, nor the unpainted walls or the exposed floorboards where carpets have been stripped downstairs. He might not be here long enough to take a look outside, but Angela gets up to peer out into the garden anyway. Looks like the caretakers have done a brilliant job this week while she’s been away, so that’s one thing she doesn’t have to worry about.

Hours later, naked on the bed and ready to sweat out what she’s praying will be her last non-air-conditioned evening at home, Angela thinks about tomorrow. She should be tired enough to fall asleep instantly like she did yesterday, but there’s a strange sort of buzzing in her head that’s keeping her brain from shutting off. She’s certainly excited about having the units fixed, but it feels more like she’s excited about having some company for a change. Possibly a little nervous, too. It really has been too long since she saw anyone outside of work.

Angela turns onto her side, opening her eyes to the darkness of the room. Maybe she should’ve told Lena Junkrat was coming after all. She shouldn’t have to hide it, should she? It’s not a big deal. Lena may not like him, but that doesn’t mean Angela isn’t allowed to get along with him. In fact, she’s probably so excited about having company _because_ it’s Junkrat, _because_ they get along so well. Much better than she thought they would, at any rate.

Is it strange to be so excited about seeing him? Angela worries briefly that it is- that it’s inappropriate for him to be coming over considering he’s just a colleague. Well, no, ‘just a colleague’ is too clinical. She’s friends with Lena. With Hana and Jesse. Genji. Jack, even. Being colleagues doesn’t mean they can’t be friends. It wouldn’t be inappropriate if she invited any of them to come over for lunch, or for dinner.

No, Angela thinks, closing her eyes again. It’s not strange. She likes Junkrat just the same as she likes all the other agents. There’s nothing wrong with being excited to see him. Nothing wrong at all.

Angela drifts off to this mantra, but when she gets up the next day her nerves are more intense. Thankfully she got some decent sleep in the end, and after another shower and breakfast Angela dashes around making sure the house is tidy as possible for a work in progress. When she checks the time it isn’t quite as late as she was hoping – just coming up to nine thirty – so she takes her time getting dressed and putting her makeup on, a task that’s usually rushed before she leaves to grab her train.

Comfortable in shorts and a plain vest top, Angela finds it’s just gone ten o’clock and she’s sitting on the veranda with her phone in hand. Now that she’s happy with the state of the house as well as herself, it’s just a case of waiting for Junkrat to contact her. She can’t go anywhere until she knows what time he’s coming. Angela scrolls through some of her news apps, simmering in the quiet excitement of being able to finally host a friend - and only slightly bothered that Junkrat didn’t give her an estimation of when he’d arrive.

Hours pass, and the morning heats up. By lunchtime she’s not only sweating again but antsy. Angela is starting to wonder if Junkrat didn’t lock in a time because he knew he was going out last night, a thought that makes something unidentifiable tug unpleasantly at her stomach. It wouldn’t surprise her if he did. She thinks of the girl Lena told her about from last time – the stranger Junkrat was flirting with – and abruptly shakes her head, frowning to herself, because it isn’t that. Definitely not. It’s the thought of him going out so soon after his crash. To be fair, he was in a fit enough state to work out yesterday, and a couple of drinks can be very relaxing after a hard week….

Still, she really hopes he didn’t. Angela doesn’t want to have to bandage him up all over again today. There’s also the worry that he might be hungover. Surely he’d let her know if he was. Surely he wouldn’t get so drunk in the first place knowing he was due to be coming over.

Angela distracts herself from these increasingly niggling worries by preparing lunch. Naturally, Junkrat texts her the moment she puts her phone down.

_Hey doc I’m on the train now! Be there soon_

Brilliant. He’s on his way after all. She lets out a long breath, feeling light now that the worry of his arrival has lifted, and holds off on making lunch. If he hasn’t eaten yet she might be able to make lunch for him, too – something else she hasn’t had a chance to do for anyone.

Angela is so familiar with the trains running from London that she knows what time he’ll be getting in without needing to check. After sweeping through the house, she looks in the mirror one last time before getting in her car and driving over to collect him, satisfied that she looks presentable. Angela is also relieved that he hasn’t chosen to come any later than this, filling with excitement again when her phone vibrates just as she’s pulling into the station.

Sure enough, Junkrat is there. He’s standing outside the foyer waiting for her, wearing shorts and a vest top with a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on top of his head. He’s watching out for her, metal hand holding onto a well-used toolkit. Angela is immediately jealous of how comfortable he looks standing out in the sun like that while she’s spent the morning similarly dressed but also feeling like she could melt at any moment. Even those sunglasses suit him.

A few other people who’ve gotten off the same train are filing out of the station and stare at him on their way. They’ve probably never seen anyone like him before, living in such a quaint part of the English countryside. That’s alright, Angela thinks. She’s never seen anyone like Junkrat either, and smiles as she opens her car door to wave at him.

“Junkrat! Over here!”

A grin breaks out over his face when he spots her. Junkrat pulls his sunglasses over his eyes and heads over.

“G’day!” he greets, a bit clumsy as he climbs into the passenger seat. He’s trying not to smack his prosthetic leg against any of the interior. “You alright?”

“Yes thanks. Nice glasses,” she says, honestly. “That’s an interesting top, too.”

Junkrat’s vest has DUMB BLOND written on it in bold letters. He looks down, tugging at it like he’d forgotten he was wearing it.

“Oh yeah, this one. Don’t worry, it certainly ain’t in reference to your good self!” he says, putting his toolkit in the backseat before settling in. Angela goes to pull away before she has to turn and squint at him.

“Seatbelt on, please.”

“Oh! Right, ‘course,” he laughs, clicking it in. Angela shakes her head as she drives out, though she’s still smiling.

“Hopeless,” she sighs. “How was the journey? Actually, no, how’re you?”

“Me? I’m great! Feeling much better. That healing stuff you used worked a treat – had a peek through some of the bandages and the cuts are lookin’ good.”

“That’s very good to hear,” she says. “No sharp pains?”

“Nope. Nothing that’s been a bother anyway.” Junkrat taps on his right arm. “Built of tougher stuff than skin, me.”

“Metal, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, if you wanna be literal about it.”

Angela is concentrating on the road but she can feel him smiling at her. All of a sudden she feels very aware that they’re outside the professional confines of headquarters and are now spending time together not strictly as colleagues, but as friends. She hasn’t been particularly worried that it might be awkward, but, well, if it is, there isn’t anything she can do about it now that Junkrat’s in her car.

“Swanky ride by the way,” he observes. “What’s the engine on it?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you,” Angela says. It’s an electric four wheel drive that’s sturdy and free to tax, which is good enough for her and about the extent of her interest in cars.

“Miss driving,” Junkrat sighs. “Wish I had me licence over here already.”

“At least you’ve got the tube, though. Public transport in London is second to none.”

“That’s true. Jeez, it’s bloody cold in here,” he says, exaggeratedly rubbing his arms. “You got the aircon on?”

“Of course I do – this is the only place I can get it when I’m not at headquarters!”

She immediately turns the aircon temperature up.

“S’alright, doc, I’ll live,” Junkrat says, reaching over to turn it back down. Angela darts an uncertain look at him.  

“Junkrat, I don’t want you to freeze to death. Well,” she says, pretending to reconsider. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh that’s charming, that is!” he says, feigning indignation.

“I’m kidding. Please, I don’t want to subject your warm-blooded Australian self to the Antarctica that is my car.”

She goes to turn the dial up again but Junkrat reaches out, holding her hand with his metal one to stop her. His touch is warm, like the metal has been heated by sunlight, and surprisingly gentle. Angela is alarmed that it seems to make her stomach flip.

“How about we go halves instead,” he says, tilting the dial with his hand still on hers so that it’s halfway between the two. “That better?”

She looks over at him. The sunglasses hide almost half of his face but Junkrat is grinning. He takes his hand off so she can put hers back on the gearstick, and Angela is even more alarmed at how hot her face feels already. Must be too used to having the car as an icebox, she thinks.

“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t believe you’ve been in here for five minutes and we’ve already had a fight.”

“Woah, steady on, doc. We ain’t married just yet.”

Okay, this just makes her laugh.

“Wh- What?” she blurts out.

“At least give it another hour or so,” Junkrat says, sounding incredibly serious. “ _Then_ we can talk about having a fight. Y’know, me sleeping on the couch and who’s picking the kids up after school.”

“Stop,” she says, still laughing, “you’re going to make me crash!”

“But there aren’t any windows around here! Can’t crash the car if there’s nothing spectacular to crash through. Thought you’d know that by now!”

The station isn’t too far away from home, but Angela’s jaw is aching from having smiled the entire way back. Any nervousness lingering from the morning has dissolved by the time she’s parked, and she goes to unlock the door with a grin still pulled across her lips, wondering how she could’ve ever thought that hanging out with Junkrat outside of work would be even remotely awkward. He whistles behind her, getting out of the car.

“This is alright, isn’t it?” he says, taking his sunglasses off and looking around the outside of her home in approval.

Junkrat has done an excellent job of continually surprising her so far, but he’s managed to take it to another level this time. Angela doesn’t think he’s ever looked so clean in all the time she’s seen him. There’s no grime on his face, and when she allows her eyes to flit down over the rest of his exposed skin it looks very much as though he’s had a proper bath. There’s nothing but tanned skin on display. Goodness. Even his hair looks somewhat tamer than usual.

A warm burst of gratitude lifts into her chest when she meets his eyes again, amazed – and also incredibly flattered – that he appears to have made such an effort. He also appears to have noticed that she’s been looking at him and folds his arms, regarding her with smug look.

“Something on my face, doc?”

“Nothing, actually,” Angela says, allowing herself to sound impressed. Junkrat grins like he’s very pleased to hear this.

“Hmm! Thought you might say that!”

“Credit where it’s due- you scrub up very well,” she says.

“Pfft. As if you’d let me drag m’self through your house without having a wash. I don’t have a death wish!”

“Wait until you get inside,” Angela says. “It’s a mess.”

“Come off it,” Junkrat snorts. “Bet you don’t know the meaning of the word mess!”

“Probably best to reserve your judgement until you’ve seen for yourself,” she says, unlocking the door.

“Oh yeah? What, your turn to impress _me_ now, is it?” Junkrat asks.

Angela glances around at him. He's smirking at her, eyebrow lifted. She knows all he’s doing is returning the challenge she issued him the other day, but… it feels very much like he might actually be flirting with her, this time.

It’s – no. Gosh, what’s she thinking? He’s only being cheeky.

“Well, I can only do my best,” Angela says, opening up the door as a distraction from this sudden and rather worryingly exciting thought. “Please, come in.”

 

*


	4. Fooled Around and Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Blue Blossom for [this wonderful art from chapter three!!](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/175993722970/blue-blossom-blue-blossom-blue-blossom) AAAAHHH!!!

“Jesus, it’s baking in here!” Junkrat says, the second he steps through the door.

“Yes,” Angela sighs, “now you can see why I’m so desperate for air-conditioning!”

“Too right! We need to get this sorted. First things first though, think you could spot us a drink? I’m parched!”

Junkrat’s immediate reaction to the heat makes her feel a lot better about how badly she’s coped for the entirety of this damned heatwave. Angela brings them into the kitchen and pours out a tall glass of water for him. She leans against the counter, watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and wondering how, of all the people on the team, _he’s_ the first one who’s come to visit her. He’s a bold presence anywhere, but it’s especially strange having Junkrat here in her home, all six foot six of him making the ceiling seem much smaller than it actually is. And it’s still so very odd to see him looking so _clean_.

Angela realises she’s been staring when he’s wiping his mouth, finished, and hurriedly busies herself with looking in the fridge.

“Cheers,” he says, breathless from having taken such a long gulp. “Needed that.”

“Have you eaten lunch?” she asks. “I’ve got plenty in if you’d like me to make something.”

“Nah, I’ve not long since had breakfast.”

“Oh,” Angela says, trying to quell her disappointment. She faces him again with a smile. “If you’re hungry, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

“Sure, sure. Thanks doc.” Junkrat smacks his hands together, making a loud sound as the metal hits skin. “Right, let’s have a crack at cooling this bloody house down!”

Angela is a little on edge as she leads Junkrat through to the lounge. She made sure everything was clean, at least, but now that he’s here looking around she feels very aware of the unpainted walls and storage containers piled up all over the place. They’re full of old documents waiting to be filed away in her office, as well as some trinkets from Switzerland that have remained unpacked since she moved in. There’s also flatpack furniture she hasn’t had the time or energy to build that’s supposed to be going into the guest bedrooms, and a few guidebooks are perched on the ottoman from where she was rather hoping to take a look at the aircon units herself. Angela even feels self-conscious about all the cushions spread across the couch and armchairs. They should be a homey touch in an otherwise unfinished room, but now that she’s looking at everything with Junkrat stood beside her, they only seem to add to the clutter.

“So then, where’s this mess you were hyping up?” Junkrat asks, gently nudging her with his elbow.

“Everywhere, as you can see,” she says anyway, grateful for his courtesy nonetheless. He tuts at her.

“Gonna hafta do better than this to impress me I’m afraid. Still, we’ve got the rest of the day to make a real mess, so all’s not lost yet.”

“That’s a relief,” Angela laughs. Come to think of it, she has no idea how long it’ll take to fix the units, nor how long he’s planning on staying. She may have been looking forward to having some company, but she hadn’t anticipated Junkrat being here for more than an hour or two. Perhaps he really will be here for the rest of the day – another worryingly exciting thought.

“Come on, let’s have a look,” Junkrat says, stepping over to where the aircon unit is screwed into the wall. He’s tall, but not tall enough to comfortably reach it, so Angela brings in a stepladder. She clears some space on the bookshelf below so that he can put his toolkit down, sliding a cloth underneath it to protect the wood from being scratched.

“This is years old,” Junkrat says, once he’s poking around the unit. “How’d you get something so outdated?”

“These ones were the only models they had in stock at the time,” Angela sighs.

“Ah, right. Tried fixing it y’self, didja?"

He must’ve noticed the guidebooks. Angela shakes her head.

“I wanted to but didn’t get very far,” she says. “You’d think a degree in nanotechnology would make repairing a few faulty air-conditioning units easy.”

“S’time though, ain’t it? When you’re workin’ all day, last thing y’wanna do is get back here and spend ages trying to fix these stupid things. Least of all when it’s this stuffy.”

He smiles down at her from over his shoulder. It’s a relief that he appreciates this without Angela needing to explain herself.

“You know, I’m still so thankful you’re willing to spend _your_ time doing this,” she says, sincerely. Junkrat goes back to prodding the unit.

“No need to be, doc. I  _love_ getting dirty."

Angela bites her lip. Knowing Junkrat this is a true enough statement on its own, but she’s beginning to think he’s not saying these flirty sort of things unintentionally.

“Really,” she says, a sarcastic non-question. Junkrat glances down at her again over his shoulder. The grin on his face is almost wolfish, making something tug at her stomach.

“What, y’don’t believe me?”

God, why is she even considering flirting back with him? Junkrat is making it far too easy to get carried away, what with his marriage jokes earlier and now this!

“I’d say the need for me to coerce you into scrubbing your face everyday is quite a giveaway,” she says instead, relieved when he looks away from her and just laughs. It’s safer to scold him than to flirt back without knowing what would be considered inappropriate. The other thing to consider is whether or not this is just Junkrat being his usual playful self - in which case, even better that Angela’s default response is to be sassy and sarcastic. She wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression if she’s reading too much into him simply being friendly.

“Right, I’m gonna get this thing off the wall so I can get a better look,” he says, reaching down to his toolkit. It’s full of various tools in various condition, with some that’ve been taped up many times over. He rummages through it for a screwdriver, Angela keeping her hands on the stepladder to prevent it from wobbling.

“Think I can already guess what the problem is,” he tells her, when he’s holding the unit in both arms.

“You can?”

It’s heavy, and while she knows he won’t struggle too much with the weight, Junkrat is very careful as he moves onto his pegleg. Angela holds her arms out as he steps off the ladder, frowning at the haphazardness of his movement. He’d better not fall.

“Think so,” he says, safely crouched on the floor with the unit opened up in front of them. Angela isn’t sure what she’s looking at, only recognising a few bits where she’d started on the guidebook. Junkrat hmms thoughtfully.

“We might need a trip out for some new parts,” he says. “Looks like the same model I used to have at home.”

“At home?”

“Yeah, back in Aus. Used to break on us all the time. Mum never wanted me lookin’ at it, but lemme tell ya, doc, if y’think summer over here is bad, it’s nothing in comparison to a summer in Aus without aircon.”

Angela’s eyes widen. This is the most personal thing Junkrat has ever said – the first indication that his family even exists. It’s shocking that he’s brought it into casual conversation like this.

“You- so you fixed it yourself?” she asks, eager to quiz him about it but uncertain of where the boundaries in this topic lie.

“Had to,” he says. “Good experience though. Specially if it means I get to help you out now.”

He nudges her again. For someone who’s so good at causing trouble, Junkrat is also proving himself to be very good at doing and saying things which seem to tug just _so_ at her stomach.

“Lemme see the others anyway,” he says. “Y’said there’re more units in the house, right?”

“Yes, there’s one in my office and another in my bedroom.”

Angela leads him upstairs where the air is even thicker with heat. He doesn’t sweat easily from what she’s seen during his training, but when she opens her bedroom door, she notices that Junkrat’s forehead is shiny with perspiration and his face is slightly red.

“Don’t know how you’ve survived in this,” he says, his laugh a slightly awkward sound. He seems hesitant to come inside, moving with a reservation Angela hasn’t seen before as he peeks around the doorway. Junkrat probably feels like he’s trespassing. Her bedroom is quite bland, though, housing only a queen bed, dresser and wardrobe. She’s still unsure how she wants to decorate it and figured that a few perfume bottles and her alarm clock would be ample decoration in the meantime. It’s tidy, at least.

“You can come in,” Angela tells him. “There’s nothing exciting in here unfortunately.”

Junkrat laughs again, looking less embarrassed now. “Don’t know about that,” he says. “Don’t know what you might have hiding in here.”

“Nothing but clothing, I can assure you,” she says, smiling as he comes inside. She points him over to the unit that’s fixed on the wall beside her bed. Angela grabs a handful of her makeup products so Junkrat can put his toolkit down on the dresser, and then he’s up on the stepladder again having a good poke around. She watches him, noting the slight scowl of concentration as he unscrews the chassis, the precision of his movement with hands that are usually so twitchy. She had no reason to doubt his skills anyway, but it’s clear that Junkrat is very familiar with this sort of thing. Despite his hesitation about coming into her bedroom, he looks like he knows what he’s doing. He looks confident.

Angela keeps one hand on the stepladder so she can wipe the other across her forehead and fan her top to try and air herself. Even the drawn blinds aren’t enough to keep the afternoon heat out. She should’ve brought a glass of water up for Junkrat, because his face is still flushed from how hot it is up here. Her makeup is probably starting to smudge, too, a thought that bothers her more than it should. Junkrat probably doesn’t care about that sort of thing. Still, she’d rather he didn’t see what her bare face looks like after days of bad sleep.

“This is lookin’ the same as the other one,” he says, after a minute of poking around its mechanical innards. Angela peers up to try and see for herself, still fanning her top to cool her chest.

“So it’s a fault with the model itself?”

Junkrat turns to look at her. “It - uh.” He sharply looks away again. “Yeah, I uh, think so.”

Angela frowns. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Is something the matter?”

“NO, no, nothing at all!” he says, a bit too loudly. “Just. Not to be a nuisance but couldja grab us another drink? M’still thirsty.”

“Oh, gosh, of course. You’ll - be careful, won’t you?” Angela says, not really wanting to leave him alone on the stepladder. If he were to fall it should be onto the soft safety of her bed due to where he’s positioned, but somehow Angela can imagine him missing it entirely and crashing onto the floor instead.

“’Course.” Junkrat waves her off, apparently so consumed by whatever he’s poking at that he can’t look away from it. Well, she’ll just have to trust that he won’t try getting off the ladder unaided.

She’s still fanning her top on her way out of the bedroom when all at once it occurs to her – doing so has become such an automatic habit that she must’ve done it right in front of Junkrat. Worse, actually, below him – probably giving him quite an inappropriate view down her chest.

 … Wait. Did she forget to wear a bra today?

Oh, thank _god._ Angela checks immediately and is overwhelmingly relieved to feel that she did indeed remember to put a bra on this morning despite how soaked with sweat it is now, practically a second skin. Shit. No wonder he looked so shocked. Angela feels mortified.  Should she go back in there and apologise? Would it only be more awkward to draw attention to it now that it’s already happened? Surely he knows she was only doing it to try and cool herself, not to- god, not to give him any sort of show. 

Angela grimaces, mortified. She hates summer for many reasons, but the impracticality of clothing really takes the cake. With how playful they’ve been she’s a little surprised he didn’t laugh it off, though, or make any teasing quip about it. He probably just wasn’t expecting it. Wasn’t exactly asking to get a look down her top - she didn’t give poor Junkrat a choice. Damn it, she really must be more careful next time.

It’s a little cooler downstairs when she heads back to the kitchen, though the sun will be at its hottest now, battering the outside of the house in 30 degree sunlight. Needing a distraction from her faux pas, she grabs some fruit to tide her over after skipping lunch earlier. Now that she’s down here and considering she’s just realised how damn sweaty her bra is, it’s an ideal time to check her makeup and see how much of it has smudged off. Junkrat may not pay attention to it, but Angela doesn’t want to subject him to a melting face if she doesn’t have to. The bra incident will’ve been bad enough.

She pulls her phone out as a makeshift mirror only to see there’s a new message on the home screen. It’s from Lena. Being contacted by her outside of work hours like this would normally be a pleasant surprise, but the banner preview makes Angela’s stomach lurch instead.

_Doc, I’ve just heard about what happened on Thursday!! Are you alright?? I can’t BELIE…_

She almost doesn’t want to read the rest, afraid of this being yet another notch on a growing tally against Junkrat. If she can do some damage control, though, it’s worth replying. She can’t exactly ignore Lena anyway, so with another grimace she double taps to read the full message.

_I can’t BELIEVE Junkrat did that, what on earth was he thinking?! Winston had to stay so late on Thursday!!! How can one person be such a liability?!_

Angela takes a minute to think about her reply, aware of Junkrat on his own upstairs. She fires off what she believes to be a reasonable response.

 _Hey! I’m absolutely fine, had to keep Junkrat in overnight for his injuries.  I was a bit too encouraging during training and he was quite remorseful when I was patching him up – don’t think he meant to break anything on purpose._ _Sorry to hear about poor Winston, i_ _t was a long day for all of us sadly. He seemed alright when I saw him on Friday, though. Hope you’re having a good day anyway,_ _still looking forward to our Lúciana chat soon!!_

Angela waits to see if a reply is coming but Lena isn’t typing, so she puts her phone away and decides to worry about it later. She’d also totally forgotten about Lena’s invitation to go out today. Angela feels guilty remembering it now, but an even guiltier part of her is relieved that she didn’t tell Lena Junkrat was coming over after all. He doesn’t seem to be earning himself many points with the others, but it’s difficult to convey the circumstances of his crash without Lena being there.

After checking her makeup in a proper mirror and assessing that it still adequately masks her tiredness, Angela pours out two glasses of water. She’s on her way upstairs when she hears a sudden and heavy sounding clatter _,_ and rushes up to the bedroom with her heart hammering, expecting to see Junkrat splayed out across floor in agony.

“Junkrat??”

Well… she was sort of right. The _unit_ is splayed over the floor, its plastic chassis broken into pieces, but Junkrat is crouched beside it, wincing up at her with his human hand scratching his neck.

“I… _may_ have accidentally dropped it,” he says, attempting to smile at her. Angela exhales her panic and kneels down beside him with a suffering smile of her own.

“I thought you’d hurt yourself,” she says.

“No, the bloody thing just - slipped right out me hands!” he cries, flailing his metal arm at it.

“You know there are better ways of getting my attention than breaking things, don’t you?” she says, before she can realise how provocative it sounds. Junkrat’s eyes widen and it almost, almost looks like he’s been caught red-handed. In fact for a second he almost looks pleased. But then he shakes his head.

“Doc, I swear, I wasn’t trying to—it was an accident!”

Embarrassed for coming out with something so flirty when she’s been trying so hard to _not flirt with Junkrat_ , Angela reaches out to put a hand over his metal arm. His entire body seems to relax at this, and she softens looking at him – at all the bandages on him from his last accident, his unusually clean face so apologetic. She knows she should be annoyed with him, but Angela only seems to be growing fonder of Junkrat the more these things happen. He doesn’t seem to have very good luck.

“It’s fine, I’m kidding – I know you didn’t mean to,” she says. “Next time just come downstairs with me, as you really need another pair of hands on the ladder to prevent any falls. It’s probably an entire degree cooler down there, anyway.”

“Alright,” he says, scratching his cheek. “I mean, it’s still fixable, I’ll just, er. Need to get a couple more parts for this one and it’s gonna need a bit more love.”

“That’s no problem at all. Don’t worry,” she says, handing over his glass. “This is a two-person job, after all.”

Once hydrated, Junkrat gauges the damage on this unit before heading into the office and getting that one off the wall, too. Angela stays with him this time, asking what the different parts are as he points them out. She trusts Junkrat’s judgement when he tells her what’s needed for all three. It feels like he’s only just arrived but soon enough they’re back in her car, heading to the local home improvement store in town.

Angela is somewhat relieved to be out of the house. She’s hoping she might be able to contain herself more while she’s driving, seeing as it’s apparently impossible to stop herself from flirting with this inexplicably endearing peglegged man.

“So you enjoy tinkering with things, do you?” she asks him, genuinely curious.

“Love it,” Junkrat says. “Can’t get enough of it. Machines, cars, toys, anything I can get me hands on really. ”

“Ah, so mostly mechanical things?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love messing around with computers too. Got a decent processor in this,” he says, patting his metal arm. “But if I can make something work without needing any fancy tech, even better.”

“That’s a fair point,” Angela says. “I mean, the medical industry requires my practice as a doctor to be as fully up to date and advanced as possible, so it would be quite alien for me to strip that out and try to construct something … less modern, I suppose.”

Junkrat laughs. “Old-fashioned, y’mean.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Angela says, smiling over at him. “For all my nanotechnology it’d take me days to figure out what to do with those units at home. It’s taken you less than an hour.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, y’think I’m a country bumpkin,” he says.

“Not at all!” Angela says, feeling a little bad. Junkrat is smirking when she darts a look at him though, like he’s taking this in good humour.

“S’alright, I’m only messing about. Dunno, maybe I am old-fashioned. Don’t really care either. Just love building stuff to be honest!”

“Believe me, I’m very grateful you do,” she says. “No wonder you’re so good at it.”

“Thanks, doc.” Junkrat’s got his sunglasses on again, face turned to watch the countryside pass them by as she drives. “Doesn’t half get me in trouble, though.”

“Ah, yes, that’s something else you’re rather good at.”

He laughs when Angela glances over to him, but he doesn’t look away from the window.

“ _Eesh_ , tell me about it! Strikes me people have no appreciation for enthusiasm these days!”

“I’ll say,” Angela says, immediately thinking of Overwatch’s corporate management. “Still, without your enthusiasm, I might end up drowning in my own sweat. _And_ my house would be even less of a mess, which is clearly the more pressing matter between the two.”

Junkrat does look over at her, then. “Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight there, doc.”

Angela just laughs, though something’s come to mind that’s made her a little curious.

“By the way, may I ask – is your contractual title SA?”

“Y’mean my Overwatch one? I’m a DSA,” Junkrat tells her.

SA standards for Special Agent, the classification belonging to most of the outsourced as well as in-house Overwatch agents. Having learned all of this about him, Angela is surprised that Junkrat is only a Defensive Special Agent - that he hasn’t been brought in to the engineering department as a technical resource. He should really have a specialised title. Perhaps something along the lines of Technical Engineering Agent, or some other combination that would give him one of those nice sounding acronyms the higher-ups seem to love so much.

“Oh right,” she says.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious.”

She’s thinking about emailing Torbjörn later on today to get Junkrat into the engineering department. His enthusiasm alone would be enough, but seeing as he’s technically capable as well, Angela is determined to put in a good word for him and see if she can get him based at headquarters. He deserves to be utilised rather than kept on a bench, and she thinks Junkrat would make a good name for himself if he was put in a role that related to his interests. She hopes he would, at least.

“Here we are,” she says, pulling into the car park. Angela decides she won’t tell Junkrat just in case Torbjörn doesn’t agree with her, but she’s positive that he will. Torbjörn appreciates anyone willing to roll their sleeves up and get stuck in.

It’s refreshing having some company on a trip out into town, even if it is just to the DIY store. What’s even more refreshing is that Junkrat knows exactly what’s needed, unlike Angela, who always ends up agonising over two slightly different versions of the same thing. She follows him gratefully as they navigate the store, enjoying the novelty of having a friend to walk around with when she’s so used being on her own.

Junkrat walks over to an attendant to ask if they’ve got a certain part in stock. Fondness stirs inside her as she watches him push his sunglasses up onto his forehead, calling the attendant ‘mate’ in his hearty accent. She’s so used to working with Junkrat at headquarters that she forgets how strange it must be for people outside Overwatch to see someone with such unusual looking prosthetics, and notices a few people staring as they walk past. Junkrat seems oblivious to it. If he’s not, he certainly doesn’t seem to care, chatting happily with the attendant while a couple walk past with wide eyes aimed at his leg.

Angela imagines he must be used to it, and finds this perhaps a little more upsetting than she should. If he was more receptive to getting some cybernetic upgrades, he’d stand out less for his prosthetics and more for his incredible height, or for his wild hair and tanned skin. The bright amber of his eyes, or the sharp cut of his jaw. Those astounding abs she knows are hiding behind his top.

Gosh. Junkrat is quite handsome, actually.

He comes back over. “They got it!” he says, upbeat and completely unaware that Angela’s just been staring at him. “S’back over where we got the wiring.”

“Great!” she says, her voice a pitcher higher than usual. Oh no, she thinks, having to look away from him when a very warm and sudden dread pools in her belly. That’s not good.

“It’s the last thing we need too,” Junkrat says, sounding chuffed. “Let’s go!”

“Please, lead the way!”

Thankfully he’s too busy talking to notice how quiet she’s gone. Angela nods along with what he’s saying, trying desperately to block out this realisation about Junkrat's unconventional attractiveness. What on earth is she doing, thinking about his abs in the middle of a DIY store? They have no bearing on anything anyway, least of all a practical shopping trip. His top isn’t even off, for god’s sake!

Angela files away these unnecessary thoughts, feeling better and in control when it’s time to pay. Nothing wrong with appreciating a friend’s appearance, which is all she’s doing. Junkrat’s wallet is as stuffed as it was on their night out when he pulls it out like he’s going to pay, but Angela cuts in front of him with her credit card.

“No, no, I’ll get this,” she says, addressing Junkrat but facing the cashier.

“What? Doc, this is part of the job.” He nudges her, pushing his cash in front of her card. “Don’t forget I broke one of ‘em.”

“Don’t be silly. It was broken anyway.” Angela smiles at the cashier. Junkrat laughs like she’s the one being silly, both of them jostling to pay. The cashier glances between the two of them like he’s a bit scared.

Angela is the first to insist, so the cashier takes her card hurriedly. She’s beaming as they get back to the car, Junkrat grumbling to himself as he stores their purchases in the trunk. He hauls himself into the passenger seat, careful to keep his prosthetic leg tucked in, but luckily her car is big enough for him to sit quite comfortably despite his height.

“Our first trip out and we’ve had another fight,” Angela sighs, clicking in her seatbelt.

“I’d say we’ve got… one, _maybe_ two more to go before we get into true married couple territory,” Junkrat says.

“I’m sure we’ll find something else to argue about before the end of the day. How about the radio?”

“By _all_ means, doc, give it your best shot!”

Angela is grinning as she puts some music on, and then they’re back on the road.

“How long ya been living around here then?” Junkrat asks. Looks like he’d rather chat than argue about the radio after all.

“I’ve been in the UK for about five years now,” Angela tells him. “I was renting an apartment in the city working at a private hospital, then I moved to Buckinghamshire after buying my current house.”

“Buckinghamshire,” Junkrat snorts. “Christ. Couldja get anymore British than that?”

“I know, it does sound ridiculous.”

“Why’d ya move outta London?” he asks. “Not a fan of the city?”

Angela thinks about this. Just about everyone on the team has asked her the same question. While there’s little to do in Bucks in comparison to London, that’s sort of the reason why she likes it out here. It’s nice to get all the hustle and bustle of the city during the day and then return home to quiet countryside at night, despite the fact that Angela spends the majority of her time alone as a result.

“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” she says. “I’d certainly be a lot closer to HQ, and I do like London. But it’s better having my own place, and I’d rather live in the countryside while I can. It’s very similar to my home town, around here.”

Junkrat is looking out of the window at the surrounding greenery. “Seems nice n’all, I’ll admit, but I’ve done my time living out in the middle of nowhere.”

Oh, of course - Junkrat has first-hand experience of living in a remote place. For all its beautiful leafy seclusion, she can't imagine Bucks being anywhere near as isolated as the outback.

“I understand,” Angela says. “It is very quiet here. Too quiet, I suppose. But I like experiencing both sides, if that makes sense. City and countryside.”

“I getcha,” Junkrat says. “Don’tcha find it boring out here though? Nothing but farms and fields s’far as I can tell.”

“Gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever had time to be bored. There’s always something that needs doing. I bought the house thinking it would be a good side project while I was working at the hospital. Then Overwatch started up again, and everything sort of slowed after that. I don’t think I’ve managed to finish a single room yet.”

“Yeah, but you’re not working on it on your own, are ya.”

“I’m certainly trying to,” Angela says. She notices him push his sunglasses off his eyes. When she glances over at him, Junkrat is looking at her sceptically.

“Doesn’t your man help out?”

Oh god. Angela braces herself for the question she knows is coming.

“Man?” she asks. She keeps her eyes on the road, aware that Junkrat is still looking at her. It’s making her face feel hot.

“Yeah, y’know, your boyfriend,” he says. “Or, uh, girlfriend. Significant other.”

Somehow, Angela wasn’t prepared for Junkrat to ask her this. It was probably naïve of her considering how personal and surprisingly flirty their interactions have been thus far. It’s a reasonable question for anyone to ask, really. She just didn’t think Junkrat would be interested to know about her love life.

“Actually, I’m single,” she says, though it comes out as a nervous laugh as she braces herself once again.

“WHAT?”

This is about the reaction she was expecting. It’s the reaction she gets from most people.

“You mean to tell me you’re tryina renovate an entire house by y’self, _and_ you’re single?!” he asks, sounding genuinely shocked. It’s as flattering as it is embarrassing.

“That’s right,” Angela says, simply. Junkrat scoffs.

“Pull the other one!”

She laughs, even more embarrassed now. Angela feels so acutely aware of what must be a terribly obvious blush on her face that she reaches out to turn the temperature down, needing a blast of cool air.

“I’d rather be capable of doing things myself, Junkrat,” she says, calmly. “It’s just a matter of needing more time, which I don’t really have for renovation or a relationship, now that I'm busy with Overwatch again.”

“Nah, sorry, I don’t believe ya." Junkrat folds his arms and shakes his head. “Not for a minute.”

She smiles, frowning. “What’s so hard to believe?”

He snorts. “M’sure y’don’t need _me_ to tell you what’s so hard to believe about it, doc.”

Angela’s stomach flips. When she goes to look at him he’s facing the window again. They’re back at the house now, parked up. She sets the handbrake and faces Junkrat properly, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny.

“No, go on,” she says. “Enlighten me.”

Junkrat grins. It seems private, like he’s thinking about his answer, and he pulls his sunglasses back over his eyes like he wants to hide himself. They don’t hide his blush, though. Angela is suddenly dying to know what he’s thinking, and coupled with her little realisation in the store, it’s making her feel like she’s skating ever closer to the threshold of something very dangerous.

“Doesn’t matter!” he chirps, getting out of the car. It’s such an obvious digression that Angela laughs as she follows suit.

“Really?” she asks, going to unlock the house. Junkrat brings their purchases over. He firmly shakes his head.

“Nope! I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided. Reeaally doesn’t matter!”

“Are you _sure_?” she asks, one last attempt to needle it out of him.

“ _Maybe_ I’ll fill you in later, if you’re _that_ curious to know! How’s about that?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows at her like this is some fantastic pickup line.

“Oh, just come inside already, you!” she laughs, ushering him in. She’s curious about what will change between now and later that’ll make him more willing to divulge whatever he’s thinking, but for now, Angela doesn’t want to risk reading too much into something that’s probably only Junkrat being cheeky. It’s concerning how hopeful she is, though – even more so that she’s not sure what exactly she’s hopeful for.

As before, Junkrat gets a couple of steps through the door before groaning loudly at the sweltering air inside.

“Ugh! I’m sorry doc, but it is too bloody hot in here!” he says, putting down the bags so he can pull off his DUMB BLOND vest. Well, it was only a matter of time, Angela supposes, biting her lip as once again those damned abs are on display. She tries not to look at them – at him – and focuses instead on getting them more water. Junkrat indicates that he’s a little peckish too, so she happily whips up a couple of chicken sandwiches for them before getting started on the units. It makes her feel good being able to make him something to eat, but she’s also grateful for anything that distracts from her _platonic_ appreciation of his attractive body.

When they’re back in the lounge it becomes evident that Junkrat has done this before. It takes him no time at all to fix the unit here, Angela so happy she could cry when cold air comes blasting through it. They stand side by side under it, eyes closed and heads tipped back in a mutual appreciation for this brief reprieve from what has been an entire afternoon – in Angela’s case, days – of suffocating heat. Junkrat fixes the office unit in a similarly quick time. It’s most likely a placebo effect of knowing two units are working, but she could swear it already feels like the house is cooler for it.

The one in her bedroom will take longer to fix. Angela doesn’t mind at all, sitting on the edge of the mattress watching as Junkrat tapes together the broken chassis. Considering he’s come here to do a job, Angela can’t quite get over how much fun she’s had with him today. She watches him fondly, elbow on her knee and chin resting on her palm.

“This ain’t gonna look pretty, but I can promise you it’s gonna work,” he says, offering her a hopeful smile when he looks up. Angela shakes her head.

“If it will make my bedroom cold, I don’t care how it looks.”

Junkrat patches it up to the best of his ability using the green and yellow tape he’s got in his toolkit, before getting to work on fixing the unit itself. There isn’t a trace of doubt in Angela’s mind that recommending him to Torbjörn is the best thing to do. He’s proven himself to not only be willing, but competent, and if anyone will allow Junkrat a chance to shine as part of Overwatch it’ll be someone open-minded and encouraging like Torbjörn. Angela was planning on emailing him, but she’s going to talk to him first thing on Monday morning instead. An in-person recommendation will go much further than an email.

Yawning, Angela checks the time on her phone. No text back from Lena. It’s approaching early evening now, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been long at all since Junkrat first arrived. She wishes she wasn’t so tired but unfortunately the week is catching up with her. For all the fun they’ve had, she’s looking forward to getting into bed knowing she’ll be able to sleep well tonight.

Junkrat is back on the stepladder, fixing the unit onto the wall. Angela watches him, looking his body over where she’s holding the ladder still. It's jarring to see one long leg while the other doesn’t even have a foot, but her attention is more drawn to the rest of him--to the tanned skin of his exposed upper half that isn't concealed by bandages, the flexing of toned muscle across his back and arms as he stretches and moves. There are freckles spattered across his broad shoulders, moles of varying size dotted over the canvas of his back. His shorts hang low enough for Angela to see the stretchmarks over his hips, and there are other scars, here and there, white streaks left behind from what appear to have been nasty injuries. Angela doesn't doubt that he must've been in many, many fights prior to joining Overwatch, based on what she read in his medical records.  
  
Looking at him like this sort of makes her wish she’d paid more attention during his medical, even though she was strictly doing her job. There's so much Angela doesn't know about Junkrat. It feels like it's all right here in front of her, though, a book on her shelf waiting to be opened, the sharp scars and soft freckles all over him pages to a story she thinks she'd like to read, someday.

“I think you’ll be able to take your bandages off this evening,” Angela says, realising she's been staring. Junkrat doesn’t look away from what he’s doing.

“Great stuff!” he says, evidently happy to hear this.

Angela notices that his face is dirty again, which seems unbelievable until she realises he’s been touching it while working – little thoughtful habits mixed with wiping away sweat. His hair’s gone messy again, too, where he’s kept raking his fingers through it. Unfortunately she doesn’t have any handwipes around, but somehow seeing Junkrat like this – shirt off, dirty faced – makes Angela feel even fonder of him. He made an effort for her to begin with, which she absolutely appreciates, but now it’s like he’s himself again, the same Junkrat she’s spent the last week with in training. The Junkrat she’s come to know and like so much.

Angela finds herself more appreciative him now than ever, despite his clumsiness and what the others think of him. Even despite his dirty face. It’s been nothing but a pleasure having him here today. If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t really want him to go, either. This Junkrat – the one in front of her with who’s spent most of his Saturday working here – has done nothing but make her smile. Strange to think that a notorious criminal could be such wonderful company. That he would offer to do something like this, for her.

“Phew,” Junkrat puffs out, when the unit is on the wall and they’re both sitting on her bed looking up at it. Angela is so overwhelmed with gratitude that she leans over to bunt her shoulder against his, trying to convey how warm and affectionate she feels towards him right now.

“I really, really, _really_ cannot thank you enough,” she says, stifling a yawn against her hand. She’s about to pull away when Junkrat leans in, too – enough to rest his head against hers.

“Aww, doc,” he laughs. Junkrat pulls away to smile at her. Angela looks up at him, at his friendly, dirty face, and for a split second she’s so gripped with – with – _something_ that it almost, almost makes her want to lean in closer, close enough to just --

“Don’t you go worrying about it,” he says, putting an arm around her and giving her one of those brotherly side-squeezes. “Bet you’re looking forward to getting some good sleep!”

“I - yes, I am,” Angela says, dazed. She’s relieved that he’s done this, though, broken out of her reverie and afraid of what she was about to do in the heat of the moment. Cool of the moment, even. Maybe she does need some sleep if she’s having such acutely concerning urges.

“Anyway, I’d better get me stuff together,” Junkrat sighs, getting up off the bed. Angela stands up too, watching with a sinking feeling as he starts putting away his tools.

“You’re - going?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna keep ya. Specially now that you've got a nice cool house to enjoy!”

“Oh, Junkrat, it’s no trouble if you’d like to stay. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Nah, honestly, I’m good. That sanga sorted me right out!"  
  
"Sanga?"  
  
"Yeah, y'know, sandwich. Plus you’re lookin’ pretty tired.”

Angela reaches up to touch her face, instantly worried about her makeup. Junkrat pulls on his vest when his tools are packed away, and he laughs when he faces her again, eyebrows knotting together.

“No need to look so worried, doc, you’re still gorgeous as ever,” he says, gently nudging beneath her chin with his thumb. It sends her heart straight up from her chest to her throat. “I know it’s been a hard week for ya. Mostly my doin’, too. Think ya need some solid rest.”

She’s used to people flattering her like that, so why does it feel so different coming from Junkrat? Angela holds his eyes. This is a fight she isn’t going to win judging by how ready he seems to leave. She can’t keep him if he’s set on going. And… well, she is quite tired, in truth.

“Alright,” she says, relenting. “At least let me run you to the station, if you’re absolutely _sure_ you don’t want anything else to eat.”

Junkrat is happy to compromise with this. They head downstairs, Angela smiling at how cool the air is down here despite the disappointment of Junkrat’s impending departure. Once he’s ready, she grabs her purse from the counter.

“Here, some money for the day and the train tickets,” she says, offering a neat wad of cash. Junkrat gently pushes it back to her.

“That really ain’t necessary,” he says, smiling like he’s uncomfortable. “Y’don’t need to pay me.”

“Junkrat, you’ve spent the better part of a day here doing work!"  
  
"Pffft! Wouldn't call it work, I'm happy to help!"  
  
"But it’s a Saturday!”

Junkrat folds his arms, fixing her with this look like she's being completely ridiculous. Angela scowls.

“So? Don’t matter what day it is. Wouldn’t feel right takin’ it from ya!”

“But you’ve had to commute!”

“And you’ve fed me!”

"There’s no way I’m letting you go until you accept," Angela says, huffing. "It’s bad enough you were trying to pay for the parts!”

“Alright, look,” Junkrat says, taking hold of her hands when she tries to push the cash towards him again. “I _really_ appreciate y’wanna pay. Totally get it! S’very noble of ya. But how about next time we go out, you buy us a round of drinks instead?”

Angela can’t find her words with Junkrat holding her hands like that, looking at her like this. He’s doing that thing again, lifting his eyebrows like he’s urging her to say yes.

“Sound good?”

It feels unfair for a number of reasons. Unfair that he’s not taking her money, that holding her hands is enough to get her tongue-tied. That looking at him is making that dangerous something from before intensify. That he has to go at all, actually, leaving her alone again.

“On… the condition that you tell me what _exactly_ you were thinking earlier, yes, I will buy you some drinks instead,” Angela says. She’s trying to sound playful, but it comes out alarmingly serious.  
  
Junkrat blows out a long breath. He takes his hands off hers so he can put one on his hip and run the other through his hair.

“Puttin’ me in a _reeeally_ tough spot here, doc. Is bargaining like this a doctor thing or a Swiss thing?”

“It’s a me thing."  
  
Angela is grinning but her stomach is squirming, wanting to know, wanting to hear him say it. She has an idea of what it is, and part of her isn’t sure she’s even ready for it, one step away from a cliff edge there’s no turning back from. But the other part of her wants to step forwards – wants to hear it, secretly hoping that maybe whatever Junkrat has to say will justify all these thoughts and feelings that only seem to have mounted as she’s spent more and more time with him.

Junkrat holds her eyes. He purses his lips like he’s thinking about it. But when he looks away from her and shakes his head, laughing, Angela’s heart falls.

“I was just - messing about, to be honest,” he says, scratching his neck. When Junkrat does meet her eyes again his smile is almost apologetic. “But I mean, I think any bloke with a brain can see y’shouldn’t be single, doc.”

“That’s – very kind of you,” she says, managing a little laugh like she was only joking anyway. “Thank you, Junkrat. I suppose I can let you off the hook.”

As they get into her car, Angela tries to rationalise how overwhelmingly and unduly disappointed she is that he didn’t have anything more to say on the matter. She regrets bringing the subject up again when she starts driving and neither one of them talk. In all the time she’s spent with him in and outside of work, she can’t remember an instance where there’s been this much tension – not even their disagreement on his prosthetics. It feels awful after having such a great day with him, another disappointment weighing her stomach down.

Perhaps the most disappointing thing of all, though, is that Junkrat was only being playful today after all. Now that she’s in the car with no rational explanation for what she’s feeling, Angela can admit to herself that she was actually rather hoping he wasn’t.

“Shit, almost forgot,” Junkrat murmurs, suddenly. She glances over to see him pulling out his eyedrops from his pocket.

“Been meaning to do it all day,” he says, sighing as he puts them in. “Ahhh, much better!”

“Gosh,” Angela says, instantly switching back into work mode. “I’m pleased to see you’re still using them. There’s been a noticeable difference for sure.”

“Oh yeah? Been looking into my eyes, have you, doc?”

“I have indeed,” she says, not looking away from the road. “I need to know that the drops are working as intended.”

“Oh, _sure_ ,” he teases, but Angela knows better than to bite this time. They fall quiet again, Junkrat’s bait left hanging in the air between them.

“Y’know, I gotta be honest with ya. Normally I _hate_ seeing the doctor,” he says, after a moment. Angela frowns, wondering where this has come from.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Never liked quacks. But y’know what? I think this one’s alright.”

“’This one’?” she asks incredulously, some of the weight in her stomach lifting from what appears to be more teasing.

“Yeah. She's alright, this one.”

Angela can’t stop herself laughing. “Are you honestly referring to me in third person right now?”

“I mean, she’s still a quack, but definitely the nicest quack I’ve ever met.”

“I’m literally sitting right next to you!” Angela says, trying to ignore the burst of warmth from his unexpected sweetness. She’s relieved that he’s broken the silence with something like this, though – that they’re talking normally again.

“Perhaps I should start calling her quack,” Junkrat muses. “Term of endearment and all that.”

“Oh, my _god_ , absolutely not! If you want to call me anything, call me Angela!”

“What, y’don’t like doc?” he asks her. Angela cringes.

“I don’t mind it, but I don’t really have a choice. _Everyone_ calls me ‘doc’.” Even Lena, come to think of it. Only the senior members of the team use her real name.

“Y’hafta admit though, it does sorta suit you,” he says. “Bein’ a quack n’ all.”

Angela reaches out to swat at his arm.

“Joking!” he laughs, play fighting her off. “I was _joking,_ eesh!”

They’re at the station now. Even Junkrat seems surprised when Angela parks up, though she can’t help wondering if maybe he’s disappointed at how quickly their journey together has come to an end, too.

She gets out automatically when he does, not really wanting to just wave him off from the car. She knows the train times already – Junkrat’s got about two minutes before the next train to London – and it’s only a small station, so she follows him onto the platform.

It’s strange, but somehow Angela feels like she hasn’t stood this close to Junkrat in all the time she’s spent with him, like this is the most intimate thing she’s done with anyone in a long time. There’s something so personal about waiting for a train with someone, probably because she only ever comes here alone, catches trains in and out of London by herself. It’s weird to have someone with her – to be seeing someone off. She wonders if he might be thinking the same thing, though it’s unlikely. Junkrat probably just wants to get home.

His sunglasses are perched on his forehead. She can see what remains of the day reflected in them, the sky still bright despite it being evening, now. Junkrat glances past her shoulder to watch the train pulling in, and then he’s looking down at her, grinning.

“Best be off,” he says.

“Thank you so much again for today,” she says. Angela feels oddly panicked now that the train is here, wanting to cling onto these last few moments even though she’s spent the entire afternoon with him.

“Not at all, doc, anytime.” Junkrat puts his toolkit down. “C’mere,” he adds, quietly.

Angela’s eyes widen when quite suddenly he pulls her close. His metal arm comes around her shoulders but his human one goes lower, around the small of her back. He isn’t giving her a brotherly side-squeeze this time – no, Junkrat is hugging her, holding her body flush against his. Angela has to balance up on her toes even though he’s already bending to meet her, and her breath catches in her throat, this embrace so unexpected she doesn’t know what to do with herself. He’s warm, his hold is strong, and there’s that diesel smell again from before, overpowering now that so much of her skin is pressed against his.

“S’been a pleasure, Angie,” Junkrat murmurs, somewhere close to her ear. “Thanks for having me.”

She doesn’t even have time to lift her arms up to hug him back before he’s letting go of her, pulling away. Junkrat puts his sunglasses back down over his eyes and grabs his toolkit. He’s grinning casually enough, but Angela can see that he’s blushing, like maybe that wasn’t such a casual hug for him, either.

“Take - Take care, won’t you?” she says, an automatic phrase as he boards the train.

“’Course! See ya Monday, Angie. Enjoy your aircon!”

He waves at her. Angela manages to call out a goodbye before the doors close, and then the train is moving again, taking Junkrat back to the city.

Angie. When was the last time anyone called her Angie?

... When was the last time she was even properly _hugged?_

She sits still for a good minute once she’s back in the car, trying to process what’s happened. In fact she’s still trying to process what’s happened when she’s driving, when she’s parked up back at home. Angela unlocks the front door feeling lighter than air while carrying an immense weight in her stomach at the same time. Elation tinged with dread.

How on earth could she have allowed this to happen?

She wants to put it down to tiredness. To just – liking Junkrat as a friend. To being grateful for having some company! But when Angela comes into the house, all she manages to eat is a slice of toast, her stomach too laden with emotion to cope with anything else, and she knows that this is a tell-tale sign of something more than gratitude. She’s been trying so hard to find an explanation for what she’s feeling but the answer is looming over her, simple and terrifying and beckoning her ever closer to the edge of a frighteningly steep cliff.

She undresses and showers and gets into bed. Angela is exhausted, but she stops when she goes to turn the light off, looking up at the newly functioning aircon unit. It’s an eyesore – Junkrat wasn’t kidding when he said it wouldn’t look pretty. It’s patched up crudely, green and yellow tape holding it together. He’s even put a sticker on it, one of those scary smiley faces she’s seen before on his frag launcher.

Oh well. It’s an eyesore, but it’s a functional eyesore, she thinks, turning out the light. A permanent reminder of Junkrat’s presence here. The banter and flirting. The hug.

 _S’been_ _a pleasure, Angie._

After all the trouble she’s gone through trying to get an engineer out, even with her bedroom finally and blissfully cold, Angela still can’t sleep. She thought that Junkrat was going to take her hand and jump over the edge with her. Was hoping he would, actually, after all that build up. Instead, he seems to have guided her up to it and pushed her off before laughing and running away. Angela knows it’s unfair to feel like this. It really isn’t his fault she’s allowed herself to reach this point. But honestly, of all the people to have a rapport with. Of all the people feel close to.

Of all the people she could’ve gotten a crush on, Angela cannot believe she’s gone and damn well gotten one on _Junkrat_.

Okay. There it is. There’s no taking it back now that she’s admitted it, even if it’s just to herself. The evidence is clear, and it’s far better to address it head-on than pretend it doesn’t exist.

First things first, Angela absolutely cannot tell anyone about this. Nobody on the team will understand. Lena would probably disown her. She also shouldn’t have a crush on him in the first place, because technically he’s a patient, and the thought alone of letting HR know about an agent/agent relationship – the paperwork it would produce – makes Angela physically shudder. In fact they probably wouldn’t even allow it, anyway, what with her being head of medical. Too great a conflict of interest, surely. 

There’s then the issue of Junkrat probably – possibly? - not reciprocating the crush, which sort of negates the whole needing to let HR know thing, but would also leave Angela with some very frustrating one-sided physical attraction and absolutely nothing she can do about it. If she were to address the problem – the crush – with Junkrat himself, it could then jeopardise her friendship and rapport with him, and result in some excruciating situations when they’re inevitably sent on a mission together. There’s also the slight moral dilemma of Junkrat being a criminal. As he's joined Overwatch in the first place, however, this is reason enough for Angela to believe that that's a life he's at least trying to leave behind. 

She’s working with him for the foreseeable future. Nothing she can do about it at this point in time, not until she’s had time to properly think things through. Perhaps her feelings will have fizzled out by the morning.

… Logically, the solution to this would be to excise herself of this crush as soon as possible, though. Acknowledging it is half of the battle. Explaining it is also surprisingly simple: she’s been lonely, has spent a lot of time with him recently, finds him physically attractive in various ways, _and_ he makes her laugh. Really, it would’ve been more surprising if she _didn’t_ have a crush on Junkrat after all this.

Yes, that's right. Now it’s just a case of shutting it down and moving on. She’s had the giddiness and excitement of the hug. All the teasing and flirting won’t be a problem as she knows it’s probably platonic on Junkrat’s part. That hug, though… and then there’s the fact that he called her Angie. God, just thinking about it makes Angela’s stomach flip over. She buries her face into the pillow, smiling helplessly at how incredibly good it felt to hear him call her that.

Shit. Right, okay. Angela resolves to just… park it, for now. She’ll deal with it tomorrow. No, on Monday, when she’ll see him again. For now, she really needs to get some sleep, and hope that maybe in the morning, things might be a little clearer.

Of all the people, though. Why, why, _why_ did it have to be _him!_

 

 

  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to New York for a week, so I'm anticipating being able to update this mid-December! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, guys, I can't believe the response to this fic and it is making me super super pumped to keep writing it!! And also thanks again to [Muppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile) who continues to provide her amazing beta abilities <3


	5. Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing incredible art by [Blue](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/177354741405/blue-blossom-blue-blossom-blue-blossom) and [Gin!!](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/172096101230/seme-sempai-i-mean-shes-still-a-quack-but) THANK YOU!!!!

When Angela wakes up on Sunday morning the first thing on her mind is that damn hug from last night. Rather than dwell on it, and all the dangerous warmth it seems to have left inside her, she decides to make the most out of her wonderfully air-conditioned house and have a productive day doing some filing instead.

Filing is an exceptionally boring task that she’s been putting off for months. With a cool environment to work in Angela is grateful for it today, kneeling in the lounge with papers and files scattered all over the floor. So much of her work is digital that it feels archaic having to collate and holepunch documentation like this, not to mention wasteful considering the space these folders will take up in her office. But she’s happy to be distracted by this old-fashioned way of working, and when she’s carrying several new binders upstairs she’s smiling to herself.

The lounge will be much tidier when she’s finished. She should be able to invite Lena over soon. Maybe Jesse as well, have them both over for dinner sometime. It would probably do her good to have more company. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so strongly about the company she’s just had if she invited people over more often – or at all, really, as it’s been so long.

 _Don’t think about it._ Angela repeats this every time she catches herself reflecting on how much fun she had yesterday, how it felt to be pulled close and called something other than doc. The metal arm around her shoulders. Being held so firmly against a strong, warm body. Angela tries to tell herself that she’d feel like this with anyone, but it’s futile, of course, because now she can’t imagine sharing such closeness with anyone other than _him_. And even if she could somehow extract him from the hug and being called Angie, it wouldn’t mean anywhere near as much.

Still, it’s only a crush, and a crush that she can’t do anything about. By lunchtime she’s distracted herself successfully enough to have totally cleared out some of the storage containers. Her phone buzzes just as she’s sitting down for lunch, and when she pulls it out of her pocket expecting to see a text from Lena, Angela’s stomach curls into itself to see that it’s actually a text from Junkrat.

_How’s the aircon? Nice and cold for you?_

She’s spent the entire morning trying her best not to think about him, much less hope for any contact. Angela is disappointed with herself for being so excited to receive this text. She’d also forgotten that he had her number – that they have a slightly more personal means of communication now, which is both a blessing and a curse. She puts her phone down thinking she’ll reply after lunch, not wanting to seem overly keen, but then she’s picking it up again and her thumbs are moving over the keys before she can stop herself.

 _Lovely and cold, thank you. ☺_ _I noticed the sticker you put on the unit in my bedroom, too._

Junkrat’s response is brief, but instant.

_Oh yeah lol! Like it?_

_It’s certainly different_ , Angela writes back, smiling. _Not quite what I had in mind for the room’s décor._

_Well it is my seal of approval so I’ll take that as a compliment!_

Angela’s eyes widen at this. His seal of approval? For what?

 _For a job well done?_ she writes, hesitating before sending it anyway. It takes Junkrat a moment to start typing again, and she feels a little anxious waiting to see what he says.

_I should bloody well hope so lol! It’s working alright isn’t it?_

Angela exhales. For all the excitement that comes with a crush – because, admittedly, it _is_ rather exciting – she’d forgotten just how awful they can be when every interaction turns into a minor source of anxiety.

_Yes, I believe so._

_Ah that’s good. If any of them start making any funny noises let me know!_

_Not worried, are you?_ Angela writes, hitting send before she can second-guess herself. A bit of banter won’t hurt.

_Lol course not :P Shoulda stuck around a bit longer to make sure everything was alright though_

This makes her stomach flip. It’s dangerously easy to read into things that aren’t there - crushes always intensify even the smallest interactions – but she can’t help feeling excited to know that Junkrat wishes he’d stayed longer after all.

 _You should’ve stayed_ she begins to type, only to stop and delete it. What’s she thinking, putting things like that? It’s fine to have a bit of a crush, but she can’t afford to get carried away with it.

 _You would have been more than welcome_ she writes instead. A different kind of anxiety settles in her stomach this time. After working in the heat all day it was perfectly reasonable for him to have left when he did, but it was a little strange he didn’t want to stay for anything to eat. Angela suddenly wonders if it’s because he was going to have dinner with Roadhog. She’s been so caught up in spending time alone with Junkrat that she hasn’t given his relationship with Roadhog any thought, and it might explain why he wanted to leave without eating anything yesterday. If they are indeed a couple they probably have dinner together.

Well, not that it makes a difference either way. Angela still doesn’t think they are together like that, but she’d prefer to know.

 _You would have been more than welcome ☺ but I’m sure you were missing your better half back at home!_ she writes. This feels like a safe statement. It’s teasing, but the smile should indicate that she’s just being friendly. Angela hits send and tenses up, dreading his reply and the potential disappointment it’ll bring. Junkrat starts typing immediately and she holds her breath when his message pops up.

_You think HE’S the better half?!_

This isn’t quite the definitive answer she was hoping for. It makes her stomach tighten – he hasn’t denied being Roadhog’s other half - but Angela doubles down, determined to find out one way or another even if the answer isn’t what she wants to hear.

_Oh, am I mistaken? ;)_

_Yes you bloody well are lol!_

_Well, he was very impressive in the gym…_

_And I wasn’t?!!_

She can practically hear Junkrat saying this, throwing his arms up in mock outrage. Feeling bolder, Angela decides to run with this misleading dialogue. It’s bad of her, but she’s enjoying Junkrat’s defensive responses, especially as it’s sounding like he might be a little jealous. She’s just not exactly sure what he’s jealous of, yet.

_I didn’t say that! Just making an observation._

_Yeah right lol I see how it is! Next you’ll be telling me you wanna buy HIM drinks!!!_

_Oh, is that an option? ;)_

_NO!!!!!_

Junkrat is doing an excellent job of staying vague about this, whether intentionally or not. Angela pauses for a moment before she replies again.

_Perhaps he could come and help me paint the walls, seeing as he’s so tall. ☺_

_I’M TALL!!!!!_

She had a feeling he’d say something like that. Angela grins, feeling guilty for teasing him but also cautiously excited now that she has an inkling of where this is going.

 _Not as tall as Roadhog though_ , she writes, sure she’s close to an answer. Junkrat has been replying instantly so far, but he seems to pause at this, taking longer before he starts typing again. She can feel her heart in her chest, beating fast while she waits. When his message finally comes, Angela’s eyes immediately home in on the two words she’s been waiting for.

_Oohhhhhh now you listen here missy. He might be my best mate but I am NOT going to be Roadhog’s wingman here. Got it!!!_

Best mate. Looks like her suspicions were correct after all. Not that it changes anything, but hearing this is more of a relief than it should be. She allows herself to read Junkrat’s message a few times over, shoulders relaxing from where they’d been tensed.

_Okay, okay, got it! I suppose I’ll just have to buy you drinks instead, as agreed._

_You best had! I’m adding more to your tab for this!!!_

Angela bites her lip around another grin. This is exactly the sort of back and forth that makes talking to Junkrat so fun – and so easy, too, now that she’s getting a better feel for what’s acceptable. Not that it’s helping her crush, but it’s been such a long time since she experienced a thrill like this that she doesn’t mind indulging herself. It’s only a bit of texting.

A bit of texting accidentally turns into most of the afternoon. Angela paces through the house and out onto the veranda while tapping away on her phone to Junkrat. Their conversation eventually peters off, and she realises she was midway through organising the next batch of papers. When she’s back in the lounge the aircon has blown them all across the floor, meaning she has to start again, finding the pages numbered one through a hundred to put them back in order.

It’s much harder to concentrate now, though, and her face hurts from having smiled for hours. Eventually she collates the papers and puts them into a binder. Even as the afternoon draws into evening Angela is still riding high on adrenaline, struggling to keep herself truly occupied. There’s an old cabinet that’s been sitting out on the veranda waiting to be painted that she’d noticed while she was pacing, so she decides to grab a pot of chalk paint and make a start on it, unbothered by the heat outside now that her house is adequately chilled. She can’t help excitedly checking her phone every now and again for new messages, but Junkrat doesn’t text her for the rest of the evening, meaning she gets two coats of paint done without distraction.

It’s almost like she’s spent the entire weekend with him anyway, in a sense, so it doesn’t bother Angela by the time she’s getting into bed. A thought occurs before she goes to turn the light off, making her grab her phone to text him one last time. While she initially hesitates, it feels work-related enough to be appropriate.

 _By the way, did you remove your bandages?_   she asks him. It doesn’t take Junkrat more than a minute to start typing, like he was on his phone already. Angela doubts he goes to bed as early as she does, though.

_Yeah I did! Everything’s all healed now ta :D_

_That’s good to hear. And no pain?_

_Nah no pain just scars now_

_I’ll take a look tomorrow, see if there’s anything we can do about them._

_Lol nah it’s alright a few scars don’t bother me!_

Angela sighs, unsurprised by this, but when she goes to reply Junkrat starts typing again.

_But you’re welcome to take a look anyway ;)_

She sits up in bed. Angela isn’t quite sure what to say to this. He’s… yes, there’s no doubt about it. Junkrat is definitely flirting with her, this time. It feels like it’s come out of nowhere. Her heart is beating fast again, high up in her chest now. She allows her thumbs to take over, not wanting to spend too long constructing a response.

 _I have your permission, then?_ she sends. Angela remains sitting up, waiting to see him type. He does after a minute, though it feels a lot longer than that. She swallows as the message pops up.

_Of course :P_

Angela laughs. She can’t quite believe what she’s reading. She knows how she’d like to reply, too, thumbs poised over the keys as her heart hammers at the base of her throat. It’s not appropriate, though. Too risky. With regret, Angela tempers what she wants to say into something safe.

_Then I’ll see you tomorrow. ☺ Thanks again for all your help this weekend. Goodnight Junkrat._

_Lol see you then. Sweet dreams Angie_

And there it is, that name again. She’s giddy as she turns off the light and puts her phone face down on the bedside table, eyes squeezed shut, ordering herself to get some sleep. Sooner she sleeps, the sooner she can get back to work and escape from this dreamy bubble of a weekend where everything feels too good to be true.

Sleeping proves to be impossible, of course. Angela can’t stop thinking about it – about _Angie_ and the wink and all the texts they’ve exchanged. Everything that happened yesterday. That damn _hug._ She’d convinced herself that Junkrat was only saying things in jest - the jokes about being a married couple and everything - but their banter suddenly feels much flirtier now. The way he’d nudged her chin, told her she was _gorgeous as ever_ , refused to say why he couldn’t believe she was single - it all seems objectively flirtatious when Angela had been so sure he was simply being playful. Even calling her Angie feels more intimate than it should.

She opens her eyes and stares up at the ceiling. The more she thinks about it, the more she’s beginning to realise that, actually, Junkrat has probably been flirting with her the _entire time_. All the little touches, the need to impress her, everything Junkrat has said that she’s brushed aside as platonic or playful… his jealousy, even, simply because she was teasing him about Roadhog. Angela can’t believe she’s been so blind to all of this. God, Lena noticed on their first night out.

Okay, no, be reasonable, she thinks, needing to protect herself from the terrifying prospect of reciprocation. She could still be reading into something that isn’t there. But with all this evidence staring her in the face, Angela has a feeling that maybe … _maybe_ her crush might not be so one-sided after all. It’s as frightening as it is exciting, really. She’ll just have to gauge how things are tomorrow, and cling desperately to the knowledge that regardless of her crush - and any potential reciprocation - she has no choice but to keep things professional while they’re at work.

She’s so hyped on adrenaline that she doesn’t feel particularly tired even hours into the night, dizzy by equal measures of hoping and fearing reciprocation. Seems like she was right to consider Junkrat an injection of chaos into Overwatch back when she first met him. Angela just didn’t think he’d be an injection of chaos into her personal life as well.

Despite her lack of sleep, she’s in excellent spirits on her way into headquarters on Monday. Angela had been a little worried that she’d dread it, coming face to face with him after acknowledging her feelings. On the contrary, she’s confident in her ability to remain professional. Besides that, it’s been so long since she felt any sort of romantic excitement for anyone that she’s happy to allow herself this, on the grounds of knowing it can’t go anywhere. At the end of the day, it’s still only a crush.

She’s also not seeing Junkrat first thing anyway, and heads straight up to engineering for her appointment with Torbjörn. He’s in his office with a mug of tea in hand, having only just started his shift. When she taps on the door he calls her straight in, greeting her with a big smile. Angela is instantly grateful for it. His cheeriness will be a good distraction.

“I expect you’re here for an update on Caduceus!” he says, chipper as usual.

“Oh, yes,” she says. It was the second point of discussion on her list. “Any news?”

“Good news in fact! We got approval for the emergency canisters!”

Angela balks. “Really?!”

Torbjörn laughs, gesturing for her to come around his desk. He’s still holding his mug, the one that has WORLD’S NO.1 DAD on it. Angela doesn’t think she’s ever seen him using any others in all the time she’s known him.

“Have a look for yourself,” he says, bringing up the email on his desktop. Angela’s eyes widen.

“That must be the quickest approval we’ve had. I can’t quite believe they’ve said yes at all!”

During Caduceus’ last service, Torbjörn had suggested keeping a concentrated supply of healing solution locked inside it in the event of an emergency. Ironically, the health and safety rep he’d spoken to had indicated that the healing concentrate would be too potent and was unlikely to be approved, but apparently they’ve changed their minds. Trying to get even minor alterations put through the system normally takes months, but Torbjörn only made this particular request a few weeks ago, making the turnaround even more impressive.

“How long do you think it’ll take to implement?” she asks. Torbjörn folds his arms.

“Pffft. Come on, Angela, what sorta man do you take me for? I’ve already done it!”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” she says, though she isn’t surprised. Torbjörn prides himself on his efficiency.

He leads her out of his office and into the main engineering department. It’s busy already and Angela notices some fresh faces interspersed with the regulars who’ve worked here for years. Mostly young men and a couple of young women – graduates, probably. They look a little star struck as Torbjörn leads her through the workshop.

“Hi, Miss Ziegler!”

“Good morning, Miss Ziegler!” they call out. Angela waves at them in greeting.

“New grads,” Torbjörn confirms, grinning. “They’re big fans.”

“I see,” Angela says, embarrassed as she grins back at him.

He brings her through to his private workshop where he has Caduceus locked in a glass case. A few turrets are benched in here too, prototypes for newer models, but he leads Angela straight over to her staff.

“Right then, it’s very simple.” He gets it out and hands it up to her. “See that glass panel there?”

Angela looks. It’s at the head of the rod, a strip of glass that wasn’t there before. Torbjörn points at it.

“There’s a keyhole just beneath it – see?”

“Yes, I can see that,” she says, amazed. “It’s tiny!”

“I’ve installed the corresponding key in your Valkyrie. Push it in to unlock it, and you’ll be able to pop out a couple of canisters. Only 400 millilitres of the stuff, mind, but that’s all we’re allowed.” He frowns, then, grumbling to himself. “Was hoping to get double that amount. Bloody health and safety get on my nerves.”

“Gosh, that’s certainly better than nothing,” Angela says. She understands, though. The corporate shackles have been especially hard on Torbjörn. He’s used to being proactive with this sort of thing, but now he’s required to adhere strictly to legal processes instead. She thanks him profusely anyway, appreciative of how quickly he’s worked on this.

“My pleasure, Angela, was an easy job,” he says, chuffed. “Anything else I can help you with today?”

Ah, yes. She’s been pleasantly distracted until now. Angela sets Caduceus down on the bench and faces Torbjörn with a hopeful smile.

“Actually, there was something else I wanted to discuss with you. It’s about one of our new recruits.”

“Oh aye?”

“I’m not sure if you have the capacity for any new members – apprentices, even – but I think he’d do very well in this environment.”

Torbjörn makes a thoughtful sound as he takes a sip of tea.

“Is that so?” he says, setting the mug down. “Got a feeling I know who you’re on about. That Junkrat fellow, I assume.”

Angela nods. “His arm and leg are custom-built, as well as his weapon. And Roadhog’s. I think he’s quite technically capable.”

Torbjörn scratches his beard. “Funny you should say that. I’d thought about it m’self, funnily enough. Had a good chat with him at the Regent. Full of beans, that one. Thought he’d do well in here, but I don’t know about his attitude so much. Haven’t heard the best of things about his behaviour.”

This is unfortunately what she was expecting to hear. Angela sighs.

“Well, I can’t speak for the others, but… he actually came by at the weekend to help fix my air-conditioning units. I think he did an excellent job, too.”

She clears her throat, a bit embarrassed to have to tell anyone about this. Better Torbjörn than Lena, though. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Did he now?”

“It was a very kind offer, yes,” Angela says, as neutrally as possible. “He knew what he was doing. Apparently he’s only a DSA, which is why I’m telling you about it now. I think he deserves an opportunity here in the engineering department, as he’s keen to demonstrate what he can do.”

Torbjörn narrows his eyes. He’s smiling, though, in a way that’s making her think he’s probably going to agree.

“Opportunities are earned, Angela, not given.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to put in a good word for him, that’s all. Perhaps you might see something in him, too.”

Torbjörn hums.

“Alright. I’ll think about it,” he says, fairly. “I know a recommendation from yourself doesn’t come lightly.”

“I wouldn’t waste your time with anything I wasn’t sure about,” Angela says, hoping this is enough. She thanks him once again before leaving the workshop to head down to training.

She won’t tell Junkrat about this. It bothers her that Torbjörn has been put off employing him, whether by Jack, Winston or any one of the higher-ups. It’s understandable after the crash, but Angela is pleased that she’s put in a good word to counter theirs. She also still doesn’t know what Winston said to Junkrat about the whole thing last week – whether it was a warning, a formal warning, or something worse. She’ll have to ask him about it when the time is right. Perhaps it might justify another text after work.

Angela checks her watch, filling with excitement. The boys have probably arrived by now. She wonders if Junkrat will be sporting a clean face for her today or if he’ll be back to normal, wanting to put up a fight. It feels like so much has happened since they were last at work together. Angela wants to prove to herself that she’s capable of carrying on as normal, though she’s also privately curious to see how Junkrat will be with her, given their texting yesterday.

There’s a mirror in the elevator. Usually she doesn’t take any notice of it, but today she looks at her reflection, leaning in to check her makeup. She’s flustered when the door opens, alarmed to have caught herself gussying up - but pleased that the extra time spent putting her face on this morning appears to have been worthwhile.

As she thought, the boys are waiting outside the practice range. Angela gives her dress a quick tug to make sure it isn’t creased, and when she calls over to them they greet her with a chorus of good mornings.

“Good to see that you all received my email,” she says. “And that you’re all… suitably dressed, I suppose, considering the weather.”

They’re dressed not in clean gym clothing but in their combative gear ready for the virtual field training this week. Of the three, Lúcio’s clothing seems to be the most practical. It’s strange to see Roadhog with his belly out and adorned with all those spikes, but Angela is used to Junkrat being shirtless, as he is again today. He looks filthy, as usual – his clothing as well as his face. She tries not to focus too much on him, instructing all of them on their activities for the morning, but she can’t let him join the other two for their warm-ups with such a dirty face.

Junkrat doesn’t flinch at all when she procures the usual pack of wipes. In fact he stands there smirking at her with his arms folded, as though he’s been waiting for this all along.

“Y’know, I’m only gonna get dirty again,” he says, casually. It’s such obvious bait that Angela has to bite.

“Well then, I should probably let you go, shouldn’t I?” she says, folding her arms, too. Junkrat wasn’t expecting this, and immediately shakes his head.

“No no, that’s alright!” he says, panicked. He bends forwards, offering his face to her. “C’mon, have at it!”

She was secretly hoping he’d do this again. Before it was just something fun - a silly game they played - but now it feels different. Intimate. Angela glances past Junkrat, needing to make sure the other two have disappeared off into the gym. She feels very aware of the closeness of their faces, the brightness of Junkrat’s impressively clear eyes as they look into hers, and has to remind herself that the whole reason why she’s doing this is to ensure those eyes remain clear.

She tuts like she’s frustrated and reaches up to dab gently at his face. Junkrat’s eyes close when she rubs over them, but they don’t screw up like before. If only she felt annoyed rather than elated to know that he’s probably enjoying this, too, slow and careful as she brushes over his skin.

“I’m beginning to think you’re doing this on purpose,” she sighs, hoping it doesn’t sound as reverent to him as it does to her. Junkrat snickers.

“What makes ya think that then?” he asks, eyes open again. Angela distracts herself by rubbing a particularly stubborn smear on his forehead. Probably from something else he was tinkering with at the weekend.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, airily. “Just a hunch.”

Junkrat grins at her. She’s finished now, checking him over when he pulls back.

“Yeah? And what if I was?” he asks her, putting his hands in his pockets.

Something unbearable tugs at her stomach. It feels like he can see right through her, the amber of his eyes warm and intense on hers. She purses her lips, struggling with this unexpected test of willpower, but Angela isn’t brave enough to believe that he isn’t joking.

“Then I’d tell you that I’d be more impressed if you took better care of yourself,” she says, trying to smile, to act normally. Junkrat laughs. It’s an unusually soft sound, though, like he’s nervous - something else that tugs at her stomach. He’s blushing, pulls his metal hand from his pocket to scratch his cheek.

“Don’t think anyone could do a better job than you, Angie,” he says, too gently to be playful.

Oh no, she thinks, wishing he’d reverted back to doc. This wouldn’t be nearly so difficult if he had. He seems to glance over her face, biting his lip, and she thinks he’s going to lean in - but he frowns.

“Huh,” Junkrat says. “Got something on your neck.”

“Wh- What?”

“Here, give us a clean one.”

He gestures for a wipe. Angela hands one over, rooted to the spot when Junkrat does lean in, dangerously close. He’s still frowning.

“You been painting?” he asks, and her breath catches when he brings the clean wipe to her neck. His touch is gentle even though he’s using his metal hand. Angela stares at Junkrat, at his clean face, the mole on his nose that’s suddenly so endearing.

“I – yes, I have,” she says, remembering to answer him.

Junkrat pulls back, showing her the speck of cream coloured paint left on the wipe. Angela is relieved that there’s space between them again.

“Sheesh, Angie, and you give _me_ a hard time,” he says, smugly. “Am I gonna hafta start doing the same thing to you every day now too?”

“I hope not.” She means it, heart beating so fast it would be a miracle if he couldn’t hear. Junkrat is smirking at her, but he frowns again, more pronounced this time. He sets his hands on his hips.

“Y’weren’t _actually_ gonna ask Roadie to help, were ya?”

“What? No!” she says, laughing a bit breathlessly. “Of course not. I was only joking about all of that. And I wasn’t painting the walls anyway, just some furniture.”

“Oh right.” Junkrat’s frown eases, something fond in the way he’s looking at her now. It doesn’t help Angela’s racing heart at all. “Well, y’know, anytime y’need a hand at home, it’s no trouble for me. Don’t like thinking of ya struggling on your own.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but at this rate I’m going to owe you an entire bar.” Angela smiles anxiously, impressed with herself for making a joke, but Junkrat doesn’t laugh. He hmms thoughtfully instead.

“Y’know what? I reckon we should go out Friday.”

Oh god. “This- you mean this Friday?”

“Sure!” he says, cheerfully. “Why not? Seems like we’re gonna be bloody busy this week, a few drinks will do us good!”

Angela panics. Junkrat’s offer of having drinks seemed like more of a polite refusal of payment rather than something he actually wanted to do with her – some future agreement that _could_ happen, but probably wouldn’t. Suddenly he’s making it very real, very soon.

“I- yes, I’m sure Lena and the others would love that!” she says, using the team as a desperate measure to save herself, but Junkrat wrinkles his nose.

“Nah, sod the others! More fun if it’s just you and me, right?”

He bares his teeth at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Just the two of them? As in… a _date?_ Absolutely not, Angela thinks.

“Definitely!” she says instead. Junkrat’s eyes widen like he wasn’t expecting her to agree to this either. Oh, fuck.

“Bloody hell! Friday it is then!” he says, instantly ecstatic _._

“Yes! Let’s – shall we discuss it later?” Angela asks, apparently unable to stop herself. Oh, _fuck._

“Right, gotcha!”

Well, so much for her self-control. Junkrat looks and sounds so adorably thrilled she almost reaches out and hugs him. Angela just about manages to contain herself, choosing to reach out and awkwardly pat his arm instead, but Junkrat scoffs, gently brushes her hand away.

“C’mere, you,” he says, grabbing her into such a tight and sudden embrace it knocks the breath right out of her. Angela is too flustered to properly hug him back, a flurry of emotions stirring inside her from being pressed against him once more. “I can’t bloody wait!”

“Me – ah, me neither!” she laughs, alarmed at the burst of heat this sends through her. Thankfully Junkrat lets go of her quickly. She holds him at arm’s length when he does, glancing around and behind him, needing to make sure nobody saw them.

“I think – shall we go and join the others?” she says, still so flustered the words sound stiff. “They must be wondering where we are.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Junkrat laughs, awkwardly. He looks sheepish, like he’s embarrassed for getting so excited, and it makes her feel awful for putting the brakes on his enthusiasm. Angela instinctively grabs his hands to squeeze them – a safe compromise to hugging him again.

“We’ll – I’ll text you later, shall I?” she suggests. Junkrat brightens immediately.

“Too right you will! Cheers, Angie!”

They share a laugh, something as nervous as it is excited, and then she’s following him into the gym. Angela might as well be walking on air. She must be wearing the most ridiculous smile, too, but she can’t help it, can’t seem to stop herself. What happened to her self-control? To her professionalism?? This wasn’t supposed to happen – she was supposed to say no, thank you, and carry on pretending her one-sided crush didn’t exist. Not… indulge herself like this. Not have Junkrat ask her on a date!

Gosh, but she can’t believe this has happened. That he’s really… and just the two of them, too. Angela’s heart thrums as she watches Junkrat head over to Roadhog, gesturing like crazy as he gets on the treadmill next to him. Adrenaline rushes through her, a wonderful heat that spreads out from her belly and warms her from head to tie. To think he even thanked her for it - like _she_ was the one indulging _him_ by accepting as opposed to the other way around!

She checks in with Lúcio over by the weights before herding them out to the practice range, needing to get her mind off the fact that she’s _going on a date with Junkrat_. When they’re warmed up and ready to start, Angela concentrates as best she can on setting up the virtual training field, trying desperately to stifle her excitement and ignore the fact that her inexplicable attraction is even more inexplicably reciprocated. He wouldn’t have asked her if it wasn’t. She knows she shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, but it’s so unexpected and so incredibly exciting that she could just burst!

The virtual field training means they’re back in the practice range, wearing headsets that convert the room into a more realistic combat environment. She’s supposed to be assessing them as a group - the simulation is set to a higher level than usual to account for their teamwork - but Angela’s eyes are continuously drawn to Junkrat. He’s giving it his all, laughing as he throws his virtual concussion mines all over the place. While their synergy as a team is great, when the larger omnics arrive on the field Junkrat is at the forefront, jumping around them with his grenades exploding everywhere. He’d have to be more controlled in an actual fight, but in this simulation it’s riveting – a spectacular one-man fireworks display.

Angela bites her lip watching him, because it’s suddenly so clear to see why he’s doing this, why he’s putting on this sort of a show. It’s for her. He’s doing this – he’s doing all of this – to impress _her._

She thinks about where they might go and all the things they could talk about. How wonderful it’ll be to get a little tipsy with him, the banter they’ll have. The prospect of another hug, even. God, that alone is giving her shivers. Angela can’t risk hoping for anything more than that, but then, if her crush really is reciprocated – and all signs are pointing to that being the case … perhaps, after a few drinks, in the corner of a cosy bar, he might even want to pull her close and--

It’s almost lunchtime when an email notification pops up on her tablet, yanking her out of this frighteningly wonderful daydream. It’s from Winston. Angela’s eyebrows furrow as she reads the preview banner.

_Guys – P3 – emergency meeting in 15 please._

Her adrenaline wavers reading this, wondering what’s happened. The urgency of it is worrying. A priority three doesn’t normally necessitate an emergency meeting.

“Boys, I’m going to have to stop you,” she calls out through the intercom, pushing the emergency stop button on her tablet. It’s amusing to watch all three of them deflate as the simulation dissolves around them - a sign that they know they’ve been doing well – but fifteen minutes means there’s no time to continue.

“What’s going on?” Lúcio asks, when they’re in the elevator on their way up to the boardroom. He looks worried, too. Angela suspects he’s thinking about Hana.

“I’m not sure, but if it was something we really needed to worry about, Winston would’ve signposted it with a priority one or two. I’m sure everyone is fine,” she tells him, sincerely.

“Thanks, doc,” Lúcio says, though he doesn’t sound very reassured.

Roadhog is silent. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking with his mask on, but his arms are folded and he seems tense. Junkrat is standing beside him, opposite her. When Angela chances a look at him he’s even twitchier than usual, like he’s buzzing from a combination of nerves and excitement. Even with the uncertainty of this meeting hanging over her, Angela finds herself feeling the same way, and when their eyes meet Junkrat smiles so easily at her it sends another rush of heat through her body. She focuses on her tablet, afraid of doing anything in an enclosed space like this – even smiling feels too obvious - but she’s privately delighted that even now, in this situation, they both seem to want to acknowledge each other.

When they arrive, the rest of the agents are waiting for Winston, talking outside the boardroom door. Lena comes straight over to see her. She addresses the boys too, but Angela notices the way her smile falters when she greets the Junkers.

“You alright, doc?” Lena says, cheerful despite the tension in the air around them. “How was your weekend? Been meaning to ask what you were doing!”

“Oh, I was just - finally getting my air-conditioning fixed,” Angela says. She’s aware that Junkrat is standing next to her. He’s talking to Roadhog though, hopefully not listening.

“Really! Oh, that’s good. Thought you might’ve been on a _date_!” Lena says, giving her a playful nudge. Junkrat isn’t talking to Roadhog anymore. Okay, he’s probably listening. Shit.

“No, no, certainly not,” Angela laughs, eager to move away from this subject. She can feel a sweat coming on. “No time for anything like that.”

“I know, I know,” Lena sighs. “Well, I was thinking – shall we have our catch-up on Friday after work?”

“This – ah, this Friday? I don’t think I can,” she says, as apologetically as possible. Honestly, the second time she’s made plans and it’s the second time Lena has suggested doing something with her. This is ridiculous!

“What! You’re joking, who pipped me to the post?!”

Junkrat loudly clears his throat. It’s probably one of the more subtle things he could do, in truth, but Angela ushers Lena over to the coffee machine anyway.

“I, um - actually do have a date with someone,” she says, quietly. Angela can’t quite believe she’s saying it out loud, but it feels frighteningly more real now that she has. Lena’s eyes widen, a smile breaking out across her face, but Angela shushes her when she eagerly asks who it’s with.

“Just – someone I met recently,” Angela says, not wanting to lie but nowhere near ready to get into how she’s been wooed by Junkrat.

“Good god, doc, that’s brilliant!” Lena says, delighted. “What’s he like?? Not another CEO I hope!”

“No, absolutely not.” Angela shudders. She forgot she told Lena about that one, undoubtedly the worst date of her life. Luckily Winston arrives and calls everyone inside, rescuing her from supplying anymore details. Lena will probably text her later on wanting to know more, but it’s a lot easier to construct a text than fumble her way through a vague non-description of Junkrat in real life.

It’s unsettling to see three empty chairs around the table. Junkrat isn’t sitting next to her this time, but Angela is focused on Winston anyway, as they all are. He doesn’t look as stressed as usual, but the resignation in the way he takes a seat speaks volumes for the pressure he must be under. It doesn’t bode well for the tone of this meeting.

“What’s happened?” Lena asks, before he’s had a chance to open his mouth. It’s the question on everyone’s minds, though. Winston sighs.

“Everyone is safe, before anybody panics,” he says. “It’s… We thought the situation was controlled, but AI activity in non-AI units seems to be spreading.”

As Winston discusses this development in more depth, it becomes clear that Overwatch’s intelligence on the matter is almost as limited as it was when he first told them about it. Null Sector’s involvement hasn’t been guaranteed nor ruled out, apparently, and Russia wasn’t an affected location at the meeting prior to this one. All of the outsourced agents are now on active assignments throughout the world, too, meaning the situation is being taken very seriously.

“In light of all this,” he says, “we need to have a slight reshuffle.”

Winston’s eyes meet Angela’s as he says this. Her heart sinks down into the depths of her stomach, already having an idea of where this is going.

“I’m afraid we’re going to need to send you to Japan,” he tells her. Angela sucks in a breath.

“Okay,” she says, bracing herself. “When? And for how long?”

“We can’t give a timescale, but you should be receiving your e-ticket for tonight within the next few minutes.”

Ah. Yes. Of course. Things were going too well after all, she thinks, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

“Understood,” she says, sure she can feel Junkrat’s eyes on her from across the table. She can’t bring herself to look at him. “May I ask why?”

Winston pushes his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “We need you to take a look at Genji.”

“Oh my god,” she says, chest tightening. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“He’s alright, but his suit keeps losing power and no-one out there has been able to figure out why. We’re hesitant to say that it’s linked to what’s going on, as by rights it should be a totally different issue, but we really need you out there with him.”

Losing power? Angela frowns down at the table, running through a mental checklist to ascertain what could be causing this. The Japanese support team must’ve gone through all the necessary triage already if they need her out now, making her panic.

“Can’t you give me anymore information?” she asks.

“We’ll brief you, but for now just trust me when I say he _is_ alright,” Winston tells her, calmly. “Lena, we’re going to need you to cover off the rest of training, please.”

“Roger that,” Lena says.

“We need _you_ in Russia accompanying the others,” Winston says, gesturing to Reinhardt, “and Ana will join you out there. Jack, Torbjörn and I will remain here at HQ. The good news is that you three will be getting some actual field experience much sooner than anticipated.”

Angela listens as Lúcio and Roadhog acknowledge this. She doesn’t hear anything from Junkrat, but she still can’t bear to look over at him, keeping her eyes firmly on Winston and trying to fill the gaping disappointment of their cancelled plans with her concern for Genji.

When the meeting ends, the tension between everyone is heightened more than diminished. On their way out Angela glances over, finally catching Junkrat’s eye. It’s only brief – a moment before he leaves the room – but the disappointment written on his face is enough to ease a little of her own. Looks like he might’ve been looking forward to their date almost as much as she was, the only comforting thing she can take from this.

When they’re all outside Jack is talking to her, asking if she’s happy with her accommodation in Japan. Angela answers him, but her mind is elsewhere, somewhere down in the pit of her stomach as she watches Junkrat leave with Lena and the others. He looks dejected, which should make her feel better, but actually it makes her feel worse.

Angela should’ve expected this. It’s a firm reminder of why she stopped pursuing relationships. Whether in or outside of Overwatch, it’s inappropriate of her to devote any time to romance, not when work takes priority. For all of Junkrat’s eccentric charm and sweetness, it was foolish to get so carried away with him in the first place – she should’ve known better. This deployment is a good reinforcement of her stupidity.  She should be grateful, if anything, to have it all taken out of her hands like this. Now she won’t have to worry about her complete lack of self-control.

The rest of the day is a rush, meaning there isn’t time to dwell on the sadness pooled inside her. With no idea how long she’ll be gone for, Angela only packs her essentials when she’s home. She’s genuinely worried about Genji, and feels a bit better about her deployment knowing she’ll be able to take care of him herself. It’s only when she’s double-checking her bedroom before leaving that she looks up at the air-conditioning unit - at the sticker on it smiling at her – and finds her heart sinking all over again. She only got to enjoy a couple of days of air-conditioning, too.

When she’s back on yet another train to London, heading towards the airport this time and facing an indefinite hiatus from seeing him, Angela opens her messages with Junkrat. She reads over them, kicking herself for wasting what little time they had to have a bit of harmless fun. One date wouldn’t have been the end of the world, really. Angela deletes every message she types out to him regardless, not knowing what to say, and she stuffs her phone into her pocket for the remainder of the journey, busying herself reading a long email that’s come through from Winston.

Angela probably won’t see Junkrat again until Christmas, now. It’s a bittersweet feeling, caught between the regret of wasting time and wishing she’d never allowed herself to crush on him in the first place. Nothing she can do about it now, anyway.

The airport is packed when she arrives. Overwatch has already checked her in, so she has some time to kill before the boarding gate is announced. Angela sits down and rummages through her handbag for a mirror, only to put it down when she finds it, remembering that there’s no need to check her appearance. Just another crushing realisation – one of many, now that she has so much time to think about all the things she should and shouldn’t have done.

Her phone buzzes after she’s gone to get herself a coffee. It’s 6pm so the boys will have finished for the day, and a bolt hits her, wondering if it’s Junkrat. When Angela sits back down and sees that it’s actually a text from Lena, she’s grateful for the contact nonetheless.

_Hey doc, thanks for sending over all the training info earlier. Wish we could’ve hung out before you went though :(_

_Me too_ , Angela texts back, though at least she doesn’t have to feel bad about it anymore. _I’m sure we’ll get another chance soon._

_Hopefully. I suppose you’ve had to cancel your date! I was so excited for you as well!! :(_

_Never mind. It’s probably for the best. Work is far more important ☺_

The announcement comes for her flight. Angela puts her phone away, though it buzzes a couple of times while she’s on her way to the boarding gate. She only bothers to check her messages when she’s sitting on the plane, alone in her business-class booth waiting for take-off. All the excitement that had drained out of her at lunchtime comes bubbling right back to the surface when she sees that Lena isn’t the only one who’s texted her, this time.

_So then, we still on for Friday? ;)_

Hah. Angela smiles helplessly at this.

_Sure. How does Kazakhstan sound to you?_

_Yknow that’s just what I was thinking. Heard they do great cocktails :P_

She supposes it’s better that Junkrat is making a joke out of it. It doesn’t help her disappointment, though, imagining what they would’ve been talking about if she wasn’t currently on a one-way trip to Japan.

_I could go for an espresso martini right now, to be honest._

_Think I need something a bit stronger than that after today lol_

_Fair point. How’s training been?_

_Uuughhhgh don’t ask_

Of course – he’s been with Lena all afternoon. Lúcio and possibly even Roadhog will have been alright with her, but Angela knows she isn’t Junkrat’s biggest fan. Hopefully he didn’t call her ‘your majesty’ again.

_Just do your best. I know Lena will appreciate the effort if you do. ☺_

The excitement from Junkrat texting her quickly wears off, leaving her with the worry of Lena’s ill-feeling towards him. Angela sits with her phone in hand, waiting for his reply, but it doesn’t come for a while – not until they’re in the air, over an hour into the journey.

_Can’t believe you went to these lengths to avoid buying us a few drinks haha_

She’s carried the heavy weight of disappointment with her since lunchtime. It’s a weight that Angela is used to carrying, but it weighs even heavier reading this, cold and hollow in her stomach.

_I can assure you, avoiding Friday was the last thing I wanted to do._

Dread strikes as soon as she hits send – not only because this feels too honest, but because of why she’s leaving in the first place. Genji’s wellbeing is far more important than a silly crush, a fact that has apparently been so easy to forget.

Junkrat is typing. Angela watches, growing more nervous the longer it takes, but then the dots disappear like he’s deleted whatever he was writing. Well, she can hardly blame him. What can he say? No amount of reciprocation can change the unfortunately reality of their lives as coworkers – as Overwatch agents so tightly bound by contract.

He doesn’t text her again, which is probably for the best. She exchanges a few emails with Winston clarifying the situation in Japan – and more importantly Genji’s condition – before putting her phone away. Her brain is in desperate need of a rest, and it’s a relief when she wakes up after a couple of hours, surprised to have fallen asleep so easily.

Angela arrives at Haneda airport at rush hour local time. She’s relieved to find a company escort waiting for her with a car, allowing her to bypass the busy trains, though travelling business-class means she doesn’t feel dead by the time she’s dropped off. Her accommodation isn’t too far away from the airport - she owns a residential property in Setagaya. It’s a holiday home for the few occasions she’s visited Japan outside of work, bought using some of her inheritance and funded mostly by the tourists who rent it throughout the year. It’s also occasionally used by any Overwatch agents who need a more functional base than a hotel room, and don’t want to use the smaller, Overwatch-owned apartments closer to Tokyo’s city centre. Those apartments are probably where Jesse and Hana are staying now, as it’s been a while since their deployment.

Angela normally loves arriving here, enjoying the space of a big Japanese home in such a tightly packed city, but the emptiness of it serves as another reminder for everything she’s left back at home. She wonders if perhaps opting for a smaller apartment with the others might have been better, but as she’s already here she may as well make the most of it. The cleaners who came by after the last batch of tourists have done an excellent job, at least, and it looks like the fridge has been stocked up in anticipation of her arrival. It would be more touching if Angela hadn’t paid for it, of course, but it’s nice to sit on the couch and have a small bite to eat, tablet in her lap as she reads over the immediate plan for her deployment.

Genji is at Japanese headquarters. He’s safe and supposedly in good spirits, being monitored in the medical department. Apparently his suit lost power when he and Jesse were scouting out another decommissioned omnium, and while he wasn’t physically attacked by anything, he’d taken quite a bad fall as a result. Angela will go and see him tomorrow after she’s slept, and then she’ll be meeting with Hana and Jesse to discuss their findings so far.

Once her phone is charged and connected to the wifi, Angela receives a flurry of texts. Hana and Jesse have been in touch, as well as Lena and, of course, Junkrat. It’s morning UK time – evening in Japan. Junkrat is probably at headquarters by now, ready for his first full day of training with her. Angela replies to all of them, flattered by their concern for her safe arrival, though she saves her reply to Junkrat til last.

_Yes, I’ve arrived. Slept a little on the plane too, so it wasn’t too bad. Everything alright back there?_

_Errrrr well it depends what you mean by alright lol_

_Please don’t tell me something’s happened,_ Angela writes, hoping he hasn’t had some kind of accident in the 16 hours she’s been out of the country.

 _Something terrible as a matter of fact_ , he replies, immediately. She thought he was kidding, a sharp knife of concern cutting through her, but Junkrat sends another message before she has a chance to reply.

_You went and bloody well left me here with Tracer :P_

Angela heaves a sigh. She understands he’s trying to be sweet, but she’s frowning as she responds.

_Oh honestly Junkrat, you had me really worried!!_

Junkrat stops typing almost as soon as he starts. It twists her stomach a little, feeling bad for having to scold him but also too jetlagged to agonise over his reply. She puts her phone down and busies herself with a bit of unpacking and a shower, exhausted from what’s been a rollercoaster of a day.

Hours later when she's in bed, he still hasn’t texted her back. Maybe it really is for the best that this has happened, Angela thinks, looking at her last text to him. Some space might help her feelings settle, and hopefully lessen the disappointment of being unable to see him anymore.

The next morning, Angela is once again on a train to headquarters, though it’s a very different train passing through a very different city. Being above ground is a pleasant change to the subway system in London despite being packed in with a bunch of Japanese commuters, and while it’s hot and humid in Japan at this time of year, all the trains are air-conditioned. Angela knows headquarters will be similarly chilled, so she’s comfortable in one of her usual work dresses on her way in.

There’s still no message from Junkrat when she checks, though. Angela distracts herself from the temptation of texting him again by brushing up on some Japanese vocabulary. Soon enough she’s at headquarters, signing in and making her way to the medical department. With Genji’s concern at the forefront of her mind it’s even easier to shelve her feelings, and when Angela finally peeks her head into his ward room, the delight on Genji’s face melts away some of the disappointment lingering inside her.

“Angela!” he says, sitting up straight in his bed. She’s relieved to see that Winston was correct – Genji’s human body doesn’t look any different from the last time she saw him, scarred as ever but safe. His cybernetic legs aren’t engaged, though. They must have taken most of the damage.

“Oh, Genji, it really has been too long,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. She smiles fondly at him, warmed by the softness in his eyes. “I’m sorry I have to see you again under these circumstances. What happened?”

“I wish I could tell you. My suit was fully charged, but the main power source failed, and then my reserve battery didn’t kick in, either.”

Angela frowns. “Had you come into contact with any omnics? You were in a decommissioned omnium, yes?”

He shakes his head. “Jesse and I were alone. No omnics around.”

“Alright. We’ll get into the details later. For now, though, are you alright?” she asks, smiling.

“Now that you are here,” he says, reaching out to touch her hand. He grimaces, trying to smile back at her, but Angela knows this look means he feels ashamed. “Please forgive me for causing you all this trouble again.”

“Not at all, Genji. There’s nothing to forgive.”

She grasps his hand immediately, relieved when Genji’s pained expression softens as a result. She’s always been especially protective of him, but Angela has poured so much time and worry into his wellbeing that being physical with him like this feels more natural than it probably should. She’ll never forget those agonising months spent helping him adjust to his cybernetic body, his physical rehabilitation and training. How difficult a patient he was. The sincerity of his appreciation by the end of his treatment. Nobody else could ever understand what he’s been through – what she’s been through with him, as a result.

“I’m here now, and I’m going to make sure that the problem is fixed,” she tells him. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Thank you, Angela.”

He squeezes her hand back. It’s refreshing, actually. She’ll always want to protect him, but Genji is probably the only person in the world she can share this sort of friendly and comforting intimacy with, without needing to worry about what other people might think.

She sits with him for a long time, discussing the fall and troubleshooting his condition prior to it. Angela becomes increasingly aware of her jetlag as the morning passes, fatigued from her bodyclock still working on British time. She almost doesn’t notice when her phone vibrates, but Angela checks it when she’s on her way out of the ward a little later on, needing to collect some paperwork from the doctor who looked over Genji when he was brought in.

_Yknow, you’re not far from Straya over there. I know a place that does GREAT espresso martinis ;)_

She’s been so preoccupied with Genji that it hurts to be so abruptly reminded of her last contact with Junkrat. It surprises her that their cancelled plans still seem to be on his mind- and at what must be about 2am UK time, too. She’d started to think he might forget about it. Angela texts back, wondering if he’s awake.

_Sounds great. Shall we go?_

Junkrat starts typing immediately, making her slow down as she walks through the corridor.

_If you’re still up for it :P_

Angela smiles. Maybe it’s because she’s so tired, but it’s reassuring that the disappointment comes flooding back reading this. She’d done a pretty good job of stifling it until now.

_Absolutely. Friday, then?_

_Of course!! Pick you up at 7. Don’t be late!!!!_

The fact that he’s even joking about wanting to pick her up makes Angela’s disappointment sharpen into something so acute she has to stand still. Somehow, it’s taken this for her to feel truly upset about being here, and it washes over her so suddenly that Angela needs a moment to collect herself, take a breath. The sob is there, a lump in her throat on the brink of escaping, but she has no choice but to swallow it down – like she has done every other feeling she’s had about Junkrat so far.

 _I won’t be. See you at 7_ , she writes. For the first time she puts her phone away hoping that maybe Junkrat won’t text her back after this, telling herself that it would be for the best if he didn’t.

The week comes and goes. Angela doesn’t get around to meeting with Hana and Jesse, all of her time spent either sleeping at home or in headquarters tweaking the software for Genji’s suit. She doesn’t get upset again mostly because she doesn’t allow herself time to think about it, and when Friday evening rolls around and she’s on her local train back from work, Angela is wondering what to get from the combini for dinner. She’s spent the last few days texting Jesse and Winston, so when her phone vibrates in her pocket, Angela is blindsided to see it’s a text from Junkrat. They haven’t been in contact at all.

_You ready to go? Been waiting bloody ages!!!_

Oh. It’s 7pm Japan time. Angela can’t quite believe it, but Junkrat has upheld their date after all. Every time she thought about messaging him this week something came up, or she decided against doing so in the hopes that her crush might fizzle out now that she’s not seeing him. The excitement she’s gotten from this message means that clearly isn’t going to happen, though.

_Sorry. Couldn't decide what to wear. Ready now. ☺_

_Oh FINALLY lol took you long enough!_

Angela bites her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud at this. She pulls herself closer to the pole she’s holding onto, allowing her body to sway in line with the train’s curvature. There aren’t many other people on here but Angela wishes she wasn’t sharing this train with anyone at all, wanting to enjoy this moment in private.

_Well then. Shall we go?_

_Course. Looking gorgeous by the way ;)_

Angela steps off the train. The sky is dark and the air is less thick now that it’s evening, but it’s still humid from the warmth of the day, filled with the familiar thrumming of cicadas. The platform is quiet, but she heads over to a vending machine glowing brightly in the middle of it, and stands beside it so she doesn’t get in anyone’s way while she writes out her response. It’s never been easier to know what to say him.

_As soon as I’m back we’ll do this for real._

He doesn’t type for a while. Angela digs in her handbag for a coin, using it to get herself a bottle of ice cold water from the vending machine. By the time she’s taken a long swig from it, used the moisture on the bottle to cool her forehead, Junkrat has replied.

_Gonna hold you to that yknow. Miss having our Mercy around_

Angela’s heart squeezes in her chest. It’s a pain that she hasn’t felt in a long, long time, but it’s there now, reminding her that even 9 timezones away it’s still possible for her to feel like this about someone.

_I’m sorry about all of this. I appreciate your messages, though. ☺_

_Pfffft can’t get rid of me that easily haha :P_

_Clearly. I was worried you might forget about me, actually._

She makes her way off the platform, out of the station. It’s been a hard week. She doesn’t know what his plans are – it’s 10am over there, Saturday now – but Angela will go home, unpeel her clothes and lay beneath the aircon unit in her bedroom. She’ll wish there was a smiley sticker on it, and then she’ll wish that she really was being picked up, taken to a bar so she can buy him a round of drinks.

Angela stops by a level crossing. A train trundles through it, one of the local ones running from the city. Junkrat replies while she’s waiting for it to pass.

_Oh come on lol you think I’d forget about you?_

He’s already typing again. She’s still a little jetlagged, but she’s thinking clearly, now, more so than she has done in weeks. Realistically it can’t work, and she knows that, knows that even though he must feel the same way their date probably isn’t going to happen.

_As if Angie :P x_

Alone on her walk home, though, Angela allows herself to wonder what it would be like if it did. She doesn’t feel at all guilty when she then wonders what it would be like if Junkrat kissed her, too, after a couple of drinks in the corner of a bar where it’s just the two of them. Not now that he has done already, even if it is just through a text like this, sent from thousands and thousands of miles away.

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again to my incredible beta [Muppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile), for reading several iterations of this chapter and providing MUCH NEEDED support!!!! Thank you also for all the comments and kudos - the ball is rolling now and I am excited to write the rest of the story!!


	6. Lost in Japan

The Japanese training grounds are much the same as London’s, and today, Angela is in the viewing deck assessing Genji.

She’s spent the last three weeks fixing his cybernetics, ironing out some bugs in his software and applying multiple patches to try and resolve the problem. It’s been tough, but she thinks she’s traced the issue to a single line of code, and the patch she installed this morning seems to have given promising results. Genji has performed as expected throughout the day with no further malfunctions or power losses. If this is the fix she’s been working so hard to find, though, she’ll still need to monitor him daily for a while before she’s absolutely certain.

When they’re finishing up late in the afternoon she comes down to check in with him. Genji was uncharacteristically apprehensive about getting back into his suit this morning – the last three attempts in the practice range have resulted in more power failures – but Angela can see in his body language that he’s relaxed now, shoulders loose as he jogs over. She holds out her tablet so he can look at the corresponding numbers, and when his visor comes down Genji’s eyes widen.

“No power loss at all this time,” she says, but frowns nonetheless, needing to hear from him before she can sign this off as a fix. “How was it?”

“Much better than before!” Genji tells her, sounding happy but tinny from the reverberation of speaking through his faceplate. “Responsive again, like normal. No problems at all.”

“Looks like we’ve got it,” Angela sighs. “What a relief.”

Now that they have this workaround, it’s time for her to start looking into the root cause of the problem – why that line of code caused such fatal errors to occur out of nowhere. Thankfully, that’s a job for tomorrow.

“Thank you, Angela,” Genji says. His sincerity sends a warm burst of gratitude through her, and she reaches out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze even though he won’t be able to feel it through his suit.

“No need to thank me,” she says. “You’ve done excellently today, as always.”

He laughs. “Thanks to you, as always.”

Angela smiles widely – can tell that he’s smiling back from the way his eyes crinkle, the only visible part of his face when his visor is down. Genji’s humble attitude makes him very easy to praise. He was so cocky when he was fresh out of Blackwatch - a successful day like today would’ve made him insufferably smug – but despite his incredible strength he’s a different person now, settled and mature. Angela knows it’s mostly down to Zenyatta, but she’d like to think all of her time spent with him helped, too.

“Now that this is resolved, I’d say you’ve earned yourself an early finish,” she says. “Shall I see you later?”

Genji nods. “Yes, I’ll see you later!”

He needs to change out of his suit, and then he’ll be leaving headquarters to go and join the rest of them for dinner, probably after he’s met up with Zenyatta. Angela still has work to do before she can leave, but it’s work she’s excited to complete now that her patch was successful. The weight of Genji’s power loss has been on her shoulders since her arrival, and she’s in a good mood when she’s back in her office, relieved to finally be writing a positive report based on today’s findings.  

Angela works until 6pm. Jesse has texted her already to say they’re meeting at Uchi, a tiny ramen shop west of the city. With her report done she catches a train to Toshima and exits the station feeling refreshed, grateful that the sun sets so early in Japan even throughout summertime. Early September can be as hot and humid as August, but today hasn’t felt so bad at all, breezy and comfortable now that her body has finally adjusted to the heat. She supposes she should be glad for England’s punishing summer prior to her deployment – though she was anyway, albeit for quite a different reason than simply adjusting to the weather.

Angela has settled in to her life in Tokyo well. She still prefers living in England, but being here certainly has its perks. One of which is the fact that almost every day after work she joins the other agents for dinner. It’s a very casual thing – sometimes they’ll simply eat together before going their separate ways – but most of the time she ends up staying with Jesse and the others for a good while, chatting and relaxing after being holed in at headquarters all day. Angela used to think Japanese culture was more reserved than for after-work dining with colleagues to be the norm, but ever since she’s been here it’s surprised her more that it’s not as common in the UK. It probably doesn’t help that the UK-based agents, including herself, are spread out so far around London and its surrounding towns. Organising anything – drinks, parties, even lunch with Lena – requires more forward planning than is often practical.

Still, Angela wishes it wasn’t so unusual. If everyone back home went out for dinner casually like this, it would definitely bring everyone closer together. It would make coming home to an empty house that much more tolerable, too.

She arrives at Uchi to see Jesse and Hana already inside. There’s a curtain hanging down from the doorway – an added touch of privacy to what is already a tucked away little restaurant - but she can see their feet beneath it lined up along the bar, a pair of worn sneakers next to pink pumps. Angela’s appetite has taken quite a hit since living in Japan, but the rich scent coming from inside is enough to make her instantly hungry today.

She pokes her head through the curtain to the chorus of _irasshaimase_ that’s become so familiar when entering Japanese buildings. Jesse and Hana greet her, too, and she enters her order at the vending machine before collecting her ticket and sitting with them.

“Well?” Jesse asks, eyebrows lifting up at her expectantly.

“Cracked it,” she says, not even trying to mask her delight.

“Told ya,” he says. Hana leans over with wide eyes and even wider smile.

“Really?! Doc, that’s awesome, way to go!!”

“Yes, finally,” Angela says, beaming at how pleased both of them look – a gratifying reflection of her relief. “Just need to monitor him for a while and start looking into why it happened in the first place.”

“Bet you’re relieved, huh?” Jesse says. The chef reaches over to top up his glass of water, and he raises it to her before taking a sip.

“Oh, gosh, you have no idea.”

They probably do, simply from how much Angela’s gone on about the whole thing. The unknown omnic threat looming over Overwatch has put her under increased pressure to get Genji’s issues resolved quickly, but now that she’s here about to enjoy a bowl of ramen the relief is overwhelming, like she can finally relax after weeks of constant worry.

The chef takes Angela’s meal ticket, holding onto it with Hana and Jesse’s while they wait for Genji and Zenyatta to arrive. The agents come here often enough for the chef to know that they prefer eating as a group, and sure enough, the other two arrive shortly after Angela, Genji looking much more comfortable now that he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The scars on his face shift a little as he smiles.

“Yo,” he says, sitting beside Angela. With their arrival and three other Japanese locals sitting around the bar, Uchi is now full. Hanzo was only recently posted out to Egypt, leaving the five of them as Japan’s current team. Bastion is Japan-based too, but he’s mostly stationed in headquarters, his defensive role similar to Torbjörn’s back in London.

“Genji has told me the good news,” Zen says, tilting his head enough to look at Angela. All five of them are sitting in a line along the bar. “It sounds like your hard work has not been in vain.”

“I certainly hope so,” Angela says, smiling over at him. Zen’s expression may not change, but she can feel his warmth regardless, how pleased he is to know that Genji’s suit is back to normal.

“Looks like a toast is in order,” Jesse says. “You guys in?”

“Like you even need to ask,” Hana scoffs.

“You do realise it’s a week night, don’t you,” Angela says, giving Jesse one of her looks. He smirks.

“I do indeed, doc. All the more reason, right?”

“If you insist,” she sighs, exasperation betrayed by the helpless grin on her face. He orders a beer for everyone - including Zen, so he can toast with them – and they clink their cans together, Angela blushing in the middle.

“To our resident lifesaver!” Jesse proposes. Genji echoes the same phrase in Japanese, and the locals seem amused by them and raise their glasses, too. Angela laughs, embarrassed as everyone reaches over to affectionately jostle her once they’ve had a drink, and the chef starts dishing up their meals, everyone chatting as they eagerly await their ramen.

It amazes her that a bowl of hot food can be so appealing in summertime, but Uchi’s broth is deliciously rich without being too salty, and they provide a serving of rice free of charge to soak into it. What amazes Angela even more, though, is the sheer amount of food Hana can put away. She always selects the largest serving available, and Angela looks over in awe as the chef passes over an enormous bowl, watching her immediately tuck in with chopsticks in one hand and her phone in the other.

She’s probably messaging Lúcio. Hana’s thumb darts easily across the screen, and Angela feels a pang of envy, knowing what time it is back in London without needing to check. She looks away, making a more careful start on her own bowl of ramen, not wanting to splash the broth all over her white shirt.

They stay for a while after eating, enjoying another round of beers and talking about the day. As wonderful as it is to make dinner into such a fun social event, though, there’s something else that Angela’s really looking forward to this evening. She excuses herself before it gets too late and stops off at the supermarket on her way home, needing milk for breakfast and some food ready for the weekend. It’s strange having such a small and empty shopping basket, but with no dinner to make in the evenings there’s very little Angela needs to buy. Eating out every evening should be an unsustainable extravagance – it certainly would be in London - but Hana seems to know all the places that have reasonably priced meals, so it’s turned out to be more affordable than she thought.

Regardless of the price, their evening meals together have become her second favourite part of the day. With a single shopping bag in hand, she walks through her quiet neighbourhood at a brisk pace, excited about returning home to the thing she looks forward to most of all.

He’s late texting her, today. Angela kicks off her shoes in the foyer. She’s about to put on her slippers when her phone vibrates, as it has done around this time every day this week, and Angela grins to herself when she grabs it from her pocket, Junkrat’s message displayed on the home screen.

_So?!! How’d it go????_

Elated, she steps into her slippers and zips into the kitchen, shopping bag abandoned on the counter so she can immediately text him back.

_Brilliantly – suit seems to be fixed!_

_YEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!  
KNEW YOU’D DO IT!!!!! :D_

Angela laughs, a bright sound as she smiles down at her phone. For all the nice things about Japan, the new normal of only being able to contact Junkrat through text has been bittersweet. They may have been unable to see one another in person but they’ve texted a lot this week, more so than usual. She’d like to think they’ve grown considerably closer as a result.

_Thank you!! I'm SO relieved. Still not out of the woods completely but for now everything seems to be okay!_

_Okay?!  
Think you’re due a bit more credit than that lol it’s bloody BRILLIANT!!!!_

Junkrat’s excessive enthusiasm comes across well enough through text to make her giddy, though she knows it would be even more intense in real life. She texted him this morning on her way to HQ about how nervous she was for today’s patch and test run, so it’s touching that he’s messaged her like this, the first thing he’s asked about now that he’s on his lunch break. Junkrat has been privy to the brunt of Angela’s frustration with Genji’s suit.

She packs away her groceries before flopping on the couch, legs curled beneath her and a cup of green tea on the coffee table. Relaxing at home with Junkrat’s messages in hand feels even better than usual in light of Genji’s successful patch. This is her favourite part of the day.

_Thank you. :) Anyway, how's your day been?_

_Not as good as yours :P having lunch with Roadie. Wanna see?_

_Of course!_

Junkrat sends through a picture. It’s of Roadhog, his mask lifted up just enough so he can eat. His hand is lifted like he’s waving - Junkrat must have told him he was taking a picture for her - and the backdrop is of the cafeteria in HQ. She never used it much herself, but seeing it tugs at her stomach, makes Angela wish she was there with them right now.

 _Good to see your better half is as handsome as ever. ;)_ she says, knowing how Junkrat will respond to being teased.

Another photo comes through – a selfie. Junkrat is pulling a silly face, squinting at her with his finger pointed like he’s scolding her. Angela chuckles, warmed all over from seeing him. His face looks filthy, but she doesn’t mind nearly as much as she should, secretly pleased that nobody else has been wiping it in her place. Angela texts him again.

_Well, I suppose you’re not bad either. ;)_

Junkrat sends another selfie. He’s grinning at her this time, so wide she can see his gold-covered tooth. Angela bites her lip, amazed that she can be this charmed by a man thousands of miles away with a gold tooth and dirty face. She’s been too shy to suggest videocalling yet, so it feels special whenever they exchange selfies like this, admittedly still less often than she’d like.

 _Handsome enough for you Miss Mercy?_  Junkrat texts her afterwards.

_Absolutely. Thank you. :)  
_

_Come on then show us yours :P_

Ah. Angela looks around hurriedly for her brush, pulling the band out of her hair and fluffing it up until it looks adequately lifted. She holds her phone away to take a selfie for him in return, smiling as best she can. Angela doesn’t do this often enough to know what angle is best, feeling ridiculous as she sends off the photo she considers most acceptable. There’s a pause before Junkrat replies, like he might be looking over her photo, and it makes Angela’s stomach squirm, hoping he likes it as much as she likes his.

 _Now there’s a sight for sore eyes ;)_  he writes. Well, she supposes he would know. There aren’t many benefits to their text-only communication, but being able to hide her blush when Junkrat sends her things like this is one of them.

_I think you’d say that even if I looked terrible._

_Hahaha don’t think it’s physically possible for you to look terrible!!!_

_I certainly can and often do, I assure you._

_Try me ;)_

Gosh, he’s gotten so quick at making these sort of quips, though they’ve been texting so often that Angela should really be used to it. She tries to control herself and not get too carried away, but when Junkrat is so good at baiting her like this it’s very difficult to resist.

_You haven’t seen my jetlagged face. I’d be surprised if you didn’t run away screaming._

_Lol well then you'd best show me sometime  
Like when you’re home haha :P_

Angela’s stomach coils, wondering if Junkrat has any awareness of how much this means to her. It seems clear by their unspoken back and forth that her crush is reciprocated, but she’s still wary of reading too much into their messages. It’s much easier to flirt through text than in real life, after all.

 _I’ll add it to my to-do list. Anyway, how has work been today? Everything alright?_  she asks, pleased with herself for resisting despite the fluttering in her chest from his sweetness.

_Uuughhhhh yeah lol I suppose_

_That doesn’t sound convincing._

_Nah it’s been alright lol just got another telling off as per_

Of course, now that her worry about Genji has alleviated, this means Angela can devote more time to worrying about Junkrat’s training with Lena instead – the other concern that’s been weighing on her since leaving. Last week, she finally remembered to ask him about the repercussions of his crash. Apparently Winston gave him an informal verbal warning. Angela was relieved to note it wouldn't go on his record, but it’s a precursor to a formal warning and seems to have paved the way for Junkrat's performance to be looked at with a more critical eye than she thinks is necessarily fair. 

 _By Winston?_ she asks, hoping that whatever Junkrat has been told off about this time is as negligible as he’ll inevitably make it out to be.

_No by Tracer again as always haha_

_What did she say? Was it a formal thing?_

_Nah just nagged me about being “careless” in training blah blah blahhhh_

_You? Careless? Never!_

_Alright alright hahaha I can hear your sarcasm from here_

Angela grins. She sort of suspects Junkrat being “careless” might translate as “damaging more company property”, but if he hasn’t hurt himself – and if he didn’t do it on purpose - she doesn’t see how this would be a problem. That’s what training is for.

_So let me guess. You talked back to her?_

_Maaaybe  
If by talking back you mean COMPLIMENTING her by calling her your royal highness ;)_

It doesn’t help matters when Junkrat says things like this, though. She hasn’t heard much from Lena, but what she has indicates that Junkrat has a tendency to be difficult, mouthy and uncooperative during training. Lena will probably be on the lookout for things to criticise, which Angela understands after the crash, but it doesn’t seem entirely fair when the Junkrat she knows is so eager to please.  Her perception of him is undoubtedly biased, but it saddens her that the two of them seem incapable of working well together.

 _You realise that your ‘compliments’ only make things worse, don’t you?_ she texts him, not having the heart to criticise Junkrat, herself. It’s not really her duty anymore, another benefit to being out of the country. Not sharing a professional space with him has probably aided their newfound closeness.

_Not my fault she’s got it in for me lol_

_It does seem like she’s struggling to get past your… pursuits prior to joining us._

_I mean I get it but c’mon Angie that was bloody ages ago!!!_

_It was, but please try not to call her any names. I know it must be frustrating but it will reflect badly on you. :(_

_I know I know don’t worry lol I’m not TRYING to cause trouble  
Well…… not much ;) _

Angela just sighs, a fondly resigned sound that can’t be conveyed through text. Hopefully she’ll drum up the courage to initiate a voicecall soon - or better still, he will, taking the responsibility of doing so out of her hands.

They continue to text one another for the remainder of Junkrat’s lunch break, which coincides with Angela’s nightly ritual: showering, bathing Japanese-style, followed by bed. Recently she’s spent every evening making the most of this brief window of contact, but they’ll talk again in the morning anyway, when it’ll be his turn to sleep instead.

 _Going to bed now_ , she writes.

_Aw alright :( better get back myself I suppose_

As usual, she tries not to be delighted by Junkrat’s disappointment to see her go, but it’s no less touching now than the first time he indicated he wasn’t happy about having to say goodnight. She doesn’t particularly want to say goodnight, either.

_Hope you have a good afternoon. :)  
_

_Thanks Angie you sleep well now!!!  
AND WELL DONE AGAIN!!!!! X_

_Haha, thank you. Goodnight x_

Sending kisses at the end of their conversations is another new normal, but also the most thrilling thing of all about texting Junkrat. When Angela first arrived in the UK she'd wondered what on earth it meant. A conversation with Lena informed her that colloquial text kisses are apparently common practice amongst the British. They can be friendly or romantic depending on the circumstances, used by friends and family as well as partners. Sometimes people put a whole string of them at the end of their sentences. Angela has never been close enough with anyone to warrant sending more than one.

It’s supposedly common practice in Australia, too. She hadn't put Junkrat down as the sort of person to use it, but he’s sent one every time they’ve said goodnight to each other. A kiss through text isn’t nearly the same commitment as one in real life, but it’s lovely, anyway. Another unspoken agreement between them, and something that always leaves Angela smiling before she goes to sleep.

Junkrat texts her again in the morning on her first train out of Setagaya. Ordinarily she would’ve been concerned by how late he seems to go to bed, but she’s come to be very grateful for it now that their timezones are so different, 9am for Angela being midnight for him.

_You awake yet?_

_Morning. Yes, on the train now. How are you?_

_Yeah not bad  
Got a question for you tho_

She’s used to an elevated heartrate when texting him, but this elevates it more than usual, wondering what he wants to know. Angela glances around before replying, an instinctive habit despite being surrounded by Japanese businessmen and children on their way to school.

_Oh?_

_Yeah_  
Yknow you’ve just fixed Genji  
Any chance you might be coming back soon?

Angela’s breath catches, reading this. They’ve joked a lot about it – flirted, even – but Junkrat hasn’t broached the subject of her return this seriously before. It must’ve been on his mind, which seems unbelievable when she’s been here for over a month already. To think that he might genuinely be missing her makes Angela’s heart throb painfully in her chest.

Unfortunately, though, she already knows the answer, and types it out with a sad smile.

_I don’t imagine so. I still need to work out why the problem occurred at all.  
It’s better if I stay here until we have an idea of what’s going on, in case something else happens._

_Right ok._

Junkrat never uses a period. Angela frowns, heart still thudding as she replies.

_Is something wrong?_

_Nah just curious. You alright out there?_

Occasionally when he texts her at this hour he’s even flirtier than usual. Other times, like now, his messages lack their typical enthusiasm. She knows it’s probably just tiredness, but something about it seems vulnerable, this time. It isn’t like Junkrat to worry.

_Of course! I love spending time with everyone here. Makes me wish we all went out to dinner more back in London. Jesse is so funny when he’s had a few. :)_

Junkrat starts typing, then stops. Angela frowns. She’s tried so hard to contain herself with him, never delving too deep into their flirty dialogue for fear of saying anything too revealing, but suddenly she’s afraid she might’ve been too tempered on this occasion.

 _You prefer it there?_ Junkrat asks, before she can reply again. This really isn’t like him at all. Angela wants to ask where this abrupt anxiety has come from, but decides it’s better to put his mind at ease instead.

_I thought it was quite obvious that I’d rather be at home than here._

_Alright lol just checking :P_

Hmm. She doesn’t quite know what to make of this. It’s tempting to call him, actually, but now isn’t the right time. She’ll be at headquarters soon. Damn.

 _Are you alright back home?_ she writes, instead.

_Me? Yeah I’m fine haha_

_Are you sure?_

_Course I’m sure! No need to worry about me :)  
_

Somehow Angela isn’t convinced. She’s come to learn that Junkrat is very good at putting on a show, but she has a feeling he isn’t as carefree about his frequent problems with Lena as he makes out. When his answers are this confident it’s difficult to pry beneath the surface, though. She’ll just have to take his word for now. Looks like he’s typing again anyway, probably to change the subject.

_Oh I meant to tell you Torbjorn wants a word with me tomorrow. Guess I’ve managed to piss him off as well haha_

_What do you mean?  
Has something happened?_

_Not that I know of. He just wants to see me, got a meeting at 11_

Ah. This could be what’s worrying him. Torbjörn probably wants to give him a trial run in engineering. Angela almost tells Junkrat that she has an idea of what their meeting could be about, but on the off chance that she’s wrong she types something safer.

_That’s interesting. If you’ve done nothing wrong I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about :)_

_Lol this is me we’re talking about Angie :P_

_Nonetheless, I’m sure you’ll be alright. :) Let me know how it goes, won’t you?_

_Course! You never know maybe they’ll send me over there too haha_

Oh, gosh. If only.

 _We can but dream_ , Angela writes, sending it despite her reservations. It’s hardly a confession.

 _Lol yeah_  
Speaking of I’m gonna hit the sack  
Have a great day Angie x

_It is late over there. Sleep well x_

There’s no time to dwell on her lingering concern for Junkrat, because Angela is intercepted by Jesse the moment she enters reception. She smiles, pleasantly surprised to see him here, but it’s short-lived when she notices that he’s cradling his cybernetic arm. Oh no, she thinks immediately, eyebrows drawing together. Not him as well.

“You got a couple minutes, doc?” Jesse asks, smiling sheepishly. “Looks like we have a slight problem here.”

Angela gently takes his arm, turning it over to look. It’s still connected to him but completely limp, all dead metal that’s a heavy weight in her hands.

“When did this happen?” she asks, tightly.

“This mornin’, on my way in. Spasmed yesterday, too.”

“Spasmed? Right, okay. Come with me.”

There’s an internal department within medical for cybernetics and nanotechnology. Angela takes Jesse straight up to the clinic there, getting him sat down and his arm wired up for assessment. From her first look, it appears to be exactly the same power loss issue she’s only just resolved in Genji’s suit. Angela doesn’t want to panic unnecessarily, but this is unsettling considering the software for Jesse’s arm is totally different. She takes a breath before facing him, waiting as the app on her computer populates with data from his arm.

“When exactly did it spasm and for how long?”

“I was seein’ off the boys at the station,” Jesse tells her, thumbing his chin in thought. “Waved and it sorta froze up on me, probably no more than a second. Musta been no later than eleven. Did it again when I was on the train afterwards, maybe a quarter past.”

Small blips like this would normally be of no concern, but according to the app there’s absolutely no power running through his arm right now.

“Let’s have a look,” she says, scrolling through the patch notes from Jesse’s last service. He was only in here last week having a routine software update and nothing flagged up then. She scowls at the monitor. What’s going on?

Angela is startled when she feels a warm hand on her shoulder. When she glances over at him Jesse offers a reassuring smile.

“I’m not worried, doc. I know you’ll figure it out. Least it’s happened now rather than in the middle of a fight or somethin’, right?”

Angela laughs uncertainly. “Absolutely, but I’d rather it didn’t happen at all. I’ll run through the usual tests and we’ll go from there.”

“Got it. But hey, doc, listen to me a minute.”

“Yes?” she says, already standing up to begin the physical troubleshooting with him.

“Don’t go panicking, alright? There’s no rush, no pressure. We’ll just take it one step at time.”

Her laugh is more natural this time. “I’ll try not to. Thank you, Jesse.”

Jesse just grins at her. His relaxed approach to this is enough to take the edge off Angela’s distress, but she’s eager to get started anyway, needing to rule out the easy fixes so she can gauge whether or not this _is_ something to panic about.

She was rather looking forward to having a relaxed Friday as a reward for spending the last three weeks stressing over Genji’s suit. Instead, Angela devotes her entire day to fixing Jesse’s arm. It seems to be the same issue – one line of code that acts as an emergency shutdown when triggered – but she cannot understand why in these two very separate cases the same error has occurred. Overwatch’s virus scanning software is the best on the market, and both Genji and Jesse’s exposure to defective omnics has been minimal. Even double checking the notes from their most recent updates shows nothing that would indicate a problem. Angela just can’t fathom how both of them have been afflicted by this.

By the end of the working day she’s in need of a break from it, and resolves to tackle the root cause first thing on Monday morning. She’s pleased that it’s only taken eight hours as opposed to three solid weeks to get Jesse’s arm back online and functional, but they’ll have to return to HQ tomorrow anyway – Saturday – to run through the practice range and ensure the fix is sufficient. For Angela’s peace of mind, one weekend of overtime is a very small price to pay. She needs to know that if this keeps happening, she has a workaround to keep them covered.

For now, however, Angela is exhausted, and she sort of wants to just get home and unwind away from it all.

“Come on, doc, what’s the use in sitting at home by yourself?” Jesse says, when she’s saying goodbye to him at the station outside headquarters. He’s frowning. “You’ve worked your ass off today, come get a bite to eat and relax with us.”

When he puts it like that it’s very difficult to say no. Angela glances at her watch. There’s still a few hours before Junkrat will be on his lunch break. Not that that should be a deciding factor for her, but... well, it is, sadly.

“You make a very convincing argument,” she says, surrendering. The train is rolling in. “I suppose good food and even better company will help.”

“That’s more like it,” Jesse says, patting her back as the carriage doors open up.

They step into the confines of a 6pm train going through Tokyo. Despite being packed in like sardines Angela is happy to be sharing this train with him after all, both of them holding onto the same rail as the train starts moving again. Jesse puts his arm very lightly around her shoulder as more commuters come in at the next stop, a protective shield against the bustle of suited men trying to cram into an already overloaded train.

It’s such a sweet and gentlemanly thing to do – so Jesse, really – but it makes Angela suddenly and overwhelmingly ache for Junkrat, because she thinks that it’s probably the sort of thing he would do, too, if he was here with her right now. She bites her lip, staring down at the slither of space between her feet and the elderly lady sitting in front of her, and Angela’s eyes lift up enough to notice the lady’s wedding ring. The ache sharpens into something painful inside her – makes her look away, quickly, to the stream of blurred buildings outside, feeling like such a fool for wishing away Jesse’s kindness over her silly crush.

He’s careful to ensure Angela exits the train without being pushed by any commuters once they’re reached Toshima. Jesse seems worried about her, which must mean she hasn’t done a very good job of containing her stress today. She resolves to paint a big smile on her face when they’re in Uchi, but it comes easily when everyone is there again and a big bowl of ramen is set down in front of her, stress melting along with the egg yolk over the noodles.

“Honestly, I can’t believe we’ve been kept in the dark like this,” Hana says, scowling. “If it is Null Sector, why can’t we strike first?”

“Protocol,” Jesse sighs. “I’m guessin’, anyways.”

Hours later, the chef has cleared away their empty bowls and all five agents are still sitting along the bar, reflecting on the last month. Seems like everyone else feels the same as Angela, frustrated by the complete lack of information they’ve received in all the time they’ve been here. Outside of some rogue omnics and investigating decommissioned omniums, there’s been hardly anything to go on. Even the intel from Winston during their video conference last week wasn’t particularly informative – a suggestion of Null Sector’s Japanese division, a possible second base in Russia and a third in Egypt.

“It’s like there’s no end in sight,” Hana mutters, chin in her palm. “I just wanna know how much longer we’re gonna be here.”

“You like England that much, huh?” Genji asks her, surprised. He’s sitting on her other side –  they’ve been sharing cat pictures all evening -  but Hana doesn’t bother looking up from her phone.

“There’s a lot I love here, don’t get me wrong. But yeah, I do. I was settled there, y’know?”

“Sure it has nothing to do with a certain fella back there waitin’ for ya?” Jesse says, silkily. Hana jabs him with her elbow, making him chuckle.

“Shut up!” she huffs, glaring at him. “Lúcio is _not_ waiting for me.”

“Coulda fooled me, what with him textin’ you all the damn time.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” Hana says, folding her arms.

“Huh.” Jesse drums his chin. “Pretty sure I see you textin’ him every single time we’re out. Shouldn’t he be at work?”

“We’re just friends, Jesse, god,” she insists, clearly doing her best not to smile. Her face is red.

“Just friends? You want me to kick his ass?” Genji asks her. Hana rounds on him so fast he jumps.

“I’ll kick YOUR ass!”

Jesse grins to himself, sipping his beer while the two of them start play fighting beside him. Listening to all of this has made something hot and uncomfortable prickle up in Angela’s stomach, her eyes unblinking as she stares at the empty glass in front of her. She isn’t quite sure if it’s envy or sadness, guilt, or even delight stirring inside her from hearing all of this. Probably a combination of all of them. More than anything, though, she finds herself wishing that Jesse was needling her instead – and feels utterly miserable as a result.

“Angela?”

Her head snaps up. She blinks out of her reverie and turns, realising that Zen is addressing her.

“Sorry about that,” she says, embarrassed. “I was miles away.”

Despite having no irises to follow, she can tell that he’s looking at her, meeting her eyes.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but you haven’t seemed like yourself lately,” he says. “Is something the matter?”

Trust Zen to be the one who picks up on her misery. Angela smiles at him, knowing that it’s weak but unable to drum up the energy for anything happier.

“It’s very kind of you to ask, but I’m just a little tired.  It’s been a long week.”

Zen hums. It’s a surprisingly human sound considering he’s vocalising it from a metal voicebox. He brings his hand up to trace his steel jawline in what must be habit he’s picked up from someone else - another human gesture, gracefully natural.

“At times like this, I do not doubt the weight carried on your shoulders,” he says. “If ever you would like to talk, however, I will be more than happy to lend you an ear.”

Even without his concern, Zen’s presence alone is comforting. Angela thinks that of all the agents, he would probably be the easiest and most understanding person to talk to about her predicament. She opens her mouth, taking a breath ready to speak – but changes her mind, and shakes her head.

“I will certainly take you up on that if it all gets too much,” she says, her smile coming easier this time.

“If your compassion does not include yourself, Angela, it is incomplete. You must give yourself the same care you give to all of us.”

“Thank you, Zen,” she says softly, as touched by his sincerity as ever.

They talk for a short while until Angela decides she’s tired enough to finally make her way home. Jesse offers to walk her to the station but everyone else comes too, all four of them waving her off when she’s on her train back to Setagaya. Zen’s words stay with her as she sits down, too weary to remain standing for this journey, and she wonders if maybe it is worth discussing the matter with Zen, sometime.

Angela checks her phone, reminded of her last contact with Junkrat. She’s on her way home later than usual today. He’ll have finished his lunchbreak by now – it’s gone 2pm over there. She’s nervous thinking about his meeting with Torbjörn, having forgotten about it with how busy she’s been all day, but also a little put out to see that he hasn’t sent her any messages while she’s been at dinner. She was hoping she’d have a text from him by now, like every other day this week.

 _How did it go?_ she sends anyway, hoping he’ll pick it up before he finishes his shift but knowing she’ll be asleep by then anyway. Angela expects she won’t hear from him until tomorrow morning, and puts her phone away, trying not to feel sad about going out to dinner when she could’ve tried messaging him earlier.

Home alone again, Angela is drained as she pulls off her work clothes and takes a long, long soak in the bath. Sitting down with her legs spread out in front of her, the water comes up to her neck. Another thing she loves about Japan – these insanely deep tubs, much deeper than any in the western world and so very relaxing after a hard day. Unwound from it, she pads out to the bedroom wrapped in a towel to see her phone buzzing on the bedside table. Dread pools in her stomach as she picks it up, expecting it to be an emergency call from HQ to say she needs to come in urgently – but it’s Junkrat. He’s calling her.

“Hello?” she says, heart in her throat and embarrassed by the crack in her voice as she answers.

“Angie!” Junkrat says, thrilled. “It’s me!”

She laughs, a happy gasp of a sound.

“Junkrat! Is- Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s great!” he says, enthused but breathless. “Just had my meeting with Torb and thought I’d give you a bell. S’now a good time?”

He sounds so clear, almost like he could be standing right next to her. Angela never once thought she’d be this happy to hear his Australian accent again.

“Yes, absolutely! How did it go?”

“Bloody brilliant! I wanted to tell you the good news m’self—he wants me up in engineering!”

Junkrat sounds so genuinely excited about this Angela could burst. Torbjörn agreed with her after all!

“That’s wonderful!” she says.

“Too bloody right it is!” he laughs. There’s some background noise like Junkrat’s in the cafeteria. “Said he wants me to look at some new turret builds. God knows what made him ask _me_ but he must think I’ll be good for something!”

“As he should! Oh, I’m so thrilled for you, that’s amazing,” Angela breathes, overwhelmed. “Does he want you to start in the new year?”

“No, next week! From Monday I’ll be based up there in the afternoons!”

“Excellent! He must be keen to see what you can do. You never know, perhaps Lena was the one who recommended you!”

Junkrat snorts. “I highly doubt that,” he says, sounding a little quieter now. The deepness of his voice sends tendrils down Angela’s spine. “But I don’t bloody care —sooner I get to fuck off her majesty’s training the better!”

“Junkrat,” Angela growls, but she’s grinning, knows he can probably hear it.

”Whoops, did I say that out loud?! Anyway I just had to tell ya, couldn’t wait! How’s your day been though? Been meanin’ to text ya but I’ve only just come out for lunch!”

Angela’s heart squeezes almost painfully in her chest. To think he’s still asking about her day, even with his exciting news!

“It’s—you know, I really don’t have the energy to get into it,” she sighs.

“Oh shit,” Junkrat says, immediately concerned. “Not more problems!”

“My thoughts exactly, to be honest,” Angela says, laughing nervously. “But no, I’m fine, we’re fine. I fixed Jesse’s arm and we had a really nice meal out again. I’ll look into it all on Monday.”

“Ah, that’s alright then,” he says, warmly. “Glad I didn’t wake you up, though. Was a bit worried I mighta missed ya!”

“No, not at all, I’m – I’ve just had a bath, actually.”

“Oh. Oh right,” Junkrat says, like he’s pleasantly surprised to hear this. There’s a hum of appreciation to it that sends a bolt of heat right through her. Oh _god._

“So—no, you didn’t wake me, don’t worry,” she says, hurriedly. “It’s lovely to hear from you.”

“Been missing my dulcet tones, have you?” he asks. Angela can hear his grin this time.

“Very much so,” she says, though she isn’t joking. “Thank you for calling me.”

“No need to thank me, Angie, jeez,” Junkrat laughs. “Was thinking of calling tomorrow too. You gonna be about?”

“Yes, I—oh. No. Tomorrow is—I can’t,” Angela says, sitting down on her bed. Shit. “I’m spending all day in the practice range with Jesse so I won’t be able to talk.”

“Oh. Well, not to worry,” he says, and Angela’s stomach curls from how disappointed he sounds. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Maybe – how about Sunday?”

“Sunday? Yeah, alright!” he says, cheerful again. Angela’s stomach uncurls itself. “Anyway, best get back to it, much as I’d love to chat. Still got half the day left.”

“Ah, yes. Congratulations again, Junkrat. I’m _so_ happy for you.”

“Thanks, Angie, means a lot. I’ll catch ya later. You sleep well now!”

The call ends, and Angela has to sit still on the bed for a bit until her heart stops pounding. When it slows enough to dry her hair and pull on her evening t-shirt she’s still buzzing, elated from the phonecall – from finally hearing his voice, his endearing enthusiasm and charming accent. She’s gotten used to carrying a constant heartfelt ache around but it’s intense now, pointed in her chest when she gets into bed, brought to the forefront of her mind from where it’s been stifled under the pressure of work.

Angela can’t sleep, of course, the adrenaline of their conversation battling her physical exhaustion from the week. She thought the bath would’ve relaxed her muscles enough for sleep to come easily – that actually talking to Junkrat after yearning for so long would leave her blissfully content. If anything, she feels more frustrated now than ever, irritated that in all this time her crush has lingered and she’s _still_ unable to do anything about it.

Well… there is one thing she could do. It’s something she hasn’t done in a while, an indulgence she hasn’t had the energy for, but it might help her unwind, a little. She doesn’t usually allow herself to do it, afraid that it’ll only serve to intensify her already problematic feelings about him. But she needs it, tonight. Just something to relax her body.

Angela sleeps bottomless during the summer, so it’s easy to slide her hand down, palm flat over her belly and then further, between her legs. If she uses her left arm it’s easier to imagine that it’s him doing this, though she wonders how it would feel to have his metal hand on her as well, cool fingers on her breasts, brushing over her nipples until they stiffen up.

A sigh leaves her as she dips her fingers gently between the folds. She strokes delicately, sensitive from how infrequently she touches herself here, and whimpers at how soaked she is already just from this. Angela used to be so sensual – would do this most nights while she was at college, prior to dating her ex – but it’s like she’s forgotten how to enjoy herself, so wrapped up in work and rules and trying desperately to suppress her feelings. Thinking about him when she’s doing this doesn’t help at all, but she can’t stop herself, wondering how it would feel to be pinned beneath those broad shoulders, that dirty face pressed in against her neck. The things he’d say to her. Those hands on her, roaming, touching, making her his.

It doesn’t take much. Angela huffs, the muscles throughout her body tensing as she brings herself over the edge. She holds her breath until she’s there, and then she moans, a soft and constrained sound at the back of her throat as warmth washes over her. It’s just about enough, for now, but she knows she needs to do this more often—needs to start getting off to something that isn’t just _him._

She has to be up early for work on Saturday to get the practice range ready for Jesse. There’s no message from Junkrat throughout the morning, though, which is unusual, but at least she can occupy herself with work. Angela throws herself into it, immersed in Jesse’s performance in the practice range. They break for lunch and Angela frowns down at her phone when they’re sitting together in the cafeteria, wondering why Junkrat still hasn’t messaged her yet. She’s starting to worry that something might’ve happened to him, unless he’s been out drinking. Junkrat does seem to go out quite regularly - like most working people who aren't doctors, she supposes.

Angela’s phone does vibrate, suddenly, at 2pm. She’s dealing with a second malfunction in Jesse’s arm that’s been caused by the patch. He’s wired up again while she reads the code—it’s just something minor, an easy fix—but she excuses herself to check her phone immediately, knowing who it’ll be from. It’s 5am over there, Saturday morning. What’s Junkrat doing messaging her at such an ungodly hour?

 

_I fukincg miss you Angie_

 

Her breath catches in her throat.

 _Are you drunk?_ she writes back, afraid that he is, that he somehow doesn’t mean it.

Junkrat types, then stops, then starts again. Three messages come through in quick succession.

_Dosnt matter if imdrink_

_I bloody miss you_

_Come back_

Angela puffs out a laugh. This feels so much like a confession. God, she wishes it was.

 _I can’t,_ she writes. _You know I can’t._

_Don’t you wan tto?_

_Of course I do. Where are you? Have you been out all night?_

There’s a pause. It’s a long one, enough to make Angela panic that he’s passed out. She glances over her shoulder, aware she’s left Jesse in the clinic, but when she looks back Junkrat is typing. He stops and starts again, probably so intoxicated he’s relying on autocorrect. After a while, he stops. Angela’s heart sinks.

_Please get some water. You’re drunk, you’ve had too much to drink. Are you at home?_

He replies to this, thankfully.

_Yeah home_

_That’s good. Is Roadhog there? Get him to get you some water._

_Ok_

_I’ll text you when I’m home, okay?_

_Kk_

She’s worried about him, of course, hoping that Roadhog is taking care of him if he’s too drunk to take care of himself. But Angela is also battling the dreadful hope that he could’ve meant it regardless of his inebriation, that maybe he really, truly misses her the same as she does him. She has no choice but to persevere through the rest of her checks with Jesse anyway, but Angela upholds her promise the second she’s back at home, having spent the rest of day with it present in her mind.

_Are you okay??_

She sends it off at 7pm Japan time – probably far too early, if he’s sleeping in from a hangover. Angela sits in front of the television waiting for his reply, chewing her nails while trying to watch a film she’s streaming. Sure enough, Junkrat responds a few hours later. Angela grabs her phone with such urgency she shocks even herself.

_Sorry lol too much to drink  
Two nights on the trot, not one of my finest decisions haha_

Ah. He’s alright after all. Angela exhales the worried breath she’s been holding all day.

_Honestly. I was really worried!_

_Ah shit I’m sorry :(_

_It’s fine, just happy you’re alright. Did you have a nice time out?_

_Ehhhhh I suppose. Nothing special. Just fancied celebrating after Friday_

_I wondered if that was the case._

_No point getting drinks if they’re not with our Mercy though. You still owe me!!!_

Gosh. Even now, weeks later, he _still_ hasn’t forgotten. Angela smiles helplessly, wishing she could put into words how thoroughly touched she is by this.

_Believe me, I know. :)_

_Good. I meant it yknow. What I said about missing you_

Oh. There it is, that pain in her chest again, a tight squeeze on her heart. Angela’s thumbs move before she can stop herself and then the words are there staring up at her, waiting to be sent. She’s typed them out so many times only to delete them, but it feels like she needs to send them, this time, an instinctive pull in her stomach telling her to just - go for it.

 _I miss you, too_ , she replies, at long last. She doesn’t have to agonise over it for too long, either. Junkrat is kind enough to reply quickly, though he seems to hesitate, stopping once before typing again.

_Was starting to think you wanted to stay out there permanently :P_

_Please. Someone has to clean that face of yours. ;)_

_Ahhhhh yes hahaha that is a very special job that is reserved only for your good self lol_

_Good. I hope you realise you’re in for it when I’m back._

_Oh am I now???_

She can practically hear the thrill in this.

_Absolutely._

_Holy shit!!!  
Well then I shall await your return even more eagerly than before!!!!_

Angela just grins. There’s no end in sight to her deployment, but messages like this, after days and weeks of endless, painful longing, make it feel like perhaps they aren’t quite so far away from one another after all.

 

*


	7. The Beast

Weeks pass. She spends her days at headquarters monitoring Jesse and Genji alternately and together when possible, meticulously updating spreadsheets and triple-checking the figures from having them constantly wired up.

Angela is no closer to finding out why that line of code was activated, and her weekly reports to Winston feel redundant. Luckily he hasn’t been pressing her for progress and seems grateful simply to be kept in the loop, but she hates that she’s still here, two months later, no closer to a solution and with no real idea of when this deployment will end. There’s an undercurrent of unease about how quiet everything has been, shared amongst all five of them, but nothing has happened, yet, leaving all of them in a perpetual state of limbo.

It doesn’t help that her crush on Junkrat feels more intense now than when she was back in the UK, persisting despite their distance – perhaps even because of it. They haven’t had a chance to voicechat again as they keep missing one another’s calls. Even the texts have been sporadic, but Angela knows it’s down to his total change of schedule. Junkrat is enjoying himself in engineering at least. That’s the most important thing of all, to her.

She’s long since stopped hoping she’ll be sent back to England soon, anyway. Christmas seems impossibly far away. There’s been no word of a Halloween party but that isn’t surprising when all of the agents are on active assignments. Maybe there won’t be any socials now until the new year.

September moves into October, and with it comes the autumnal shift of colour, lush greens turning into oranges and reds. Angela is happy today, wearing a coat now that the weather is cold enough to warrant one. It’s a Saturday afternoon, late October, and the sky is rippled with clouds, pink and lilac from the sun’s descent. She’s waiting for her train home from Shibuya after a day of shopping, and the breeze of the train rustles her hair and coat as it pulls in. Angela loves autumn more than any other season.

She hasn’t heard from Junkrat for 16 hours, which is consistent with him going out for Friday after-work drinks like before. She misses him, as she has done since the day she arrived here, but now she isn’t so bothered when it’s been a little while since they’ve talked, holding his typoed assertion of missing her in the back of her mind whenever she starts to worry. When her phone does ring she’s fresh off the train at Setagaya, though it isn’t Junkrat. It’s Genji. Angela answers with a smile, wondering if he wants to meet up for coffee tomorrow.

“Hello, Genji!”

“Zenyatta’s been kidnapped.”

Angela freezes.

“He – what?” she says, the most awful of weights crashing down inside her.

“He’s gone, Angela, he’s – he’s been kidnapped!”

As it always does in Overwatch, everything happens at once. Angela is on the next train to headquarters when a communication comes through on her phone saying there’s been an explosion in a Russian omnium, followed quickly by another in Egypt. She rushes through reception when she arrives, straight up to the Japanese teleconference room. The others are there already. Jesse and Hana look terribly worried, but Angela focuses only on Genji, his red eyes and the frown that’s etched deeply over them.

Winston and a bunch of corporate suits are on the line, their faces projected onto the screen in here. His bosses, it would seem. He’s explaining the situation as it stands. It appears to be Null Sector – or rather, two vocal proponents of it who managed to slip beneath the radar and set up camp here in Japan. Winston believes that the explosions elsewhere are decoys, designed to distract from the abduction of Zenyatta. All available agents are actively assigned and the emergency research team are on the case, pinpointing Zen’s whereabouts based on the statement provided by Genji and by the intelligence they’ve been accruing for the last two months.

Well, good to know that there’s been progress after all, Angela thinks, training her face into something neutral as Winston tells them this. Would’ve been nice to have a heads up.

“So, when’re we heading out?” Jesse asks, arms folded across the table from her. He doesn’t look impressed with any of this, either.

“Not until we have his exact location,” says one of the suits.

“We should be out there ourselves, looking for him!” Genji shouts, years of composure giving way to his temper. Angela wishes she could put her arm around him but feels uncomfortable doing so with Winston and his bosses looking, so instead she rests her hand gently over his back.

“This is an operation months in the making,” says another suit, irritated. “We can’t afford to just give ourselves away here. Rest assured, you _will_ be deployed immediately once we can do so.”

Months in the making. Brilliant.

Even Winston doesn’t seem pleased by this, but evidently his hands are tied. They discuss the plan for when Zenyatta is located and anticipate an agent despatch within the next six hours. Once the videofeed ends, Genji clenches both of his hands into fists and slams them on the table, cursing loudly in Japanese. Hana, on his other side, reaches over and hugs him, but Angela and Jesse just look at one another in silent, mutual acknowledgement.

This is what they’ve been building towards. This is it.

Night has fallen when they’re in the helicopter, gear on and adequately briefed. Genji is twitchier now than ever. Angela can feel his leg shaking from the other side of the cabin, and she unbuckles her seatbelt, darting over so she can sit beside him and tightly grasp his hand.

“We’ll get him,” she says, gently confident. He’s fully suited up, making it impossible to see his expression. He stops shaking quite as much, though – grasps Angela’s hand tightly in return.

“I hope so,” Genji says, the tremble in his voice pinching at Angela’s throat. Her heart aches for Zenyatta, but she know it won’t be aching nearly as much as his.

The helicopter flies high above Tokyo, moving north-east towards Ibaraki prefecture. They arrive at a gigantic factory - the newly decommissioned omnium, responsible for the faulty processors. It’s in a secluded rural area, surrounded by rice paddies with a single dirt track leading onto a main road. An odd location for an omnium, but there’s no time to question how something like this secured government approval in the first place. The copter’s doors open up and one by one the agents jump out of it, onto the grass below ready to head inside and find Zen.

The main entrance is locked down. Apparently their covert operations are coming to an end, because Hana is instructed through comms to blast it open with her MEKA. They head inside, into the darkness of a steel sarcophagus.

There’s no electricity connected to the building so they’re dependent on the lights from Hana’s mech and Angela’s staff. They’re able to cautiously make their way through the reception area, arriving at a split corridor – one way leading to the warehouse, the other to the administrative side of the building.

The mission team back at HQ are providing comms, telling them to move slowly and to split off – Genji and Hana through the warehouse, Jesse and Angela through the administrative area. Angela doesn’t like splitting up and thinks it would be far better for them to go as a group, but the strategy is to pincer the enemy, and none of them are in a position to question the information that’s been dripfed so far.

“Think that boy’ll be able to stick to the plan?” Jesse asks, sounding concerned. They’re heading up a long staircase, guided by the light shining from Caduceus.

“We can only hope he will,” Angela says. Genji’s teamwork has improved tenfold since he started, but she isn’t so sure about his mindset now that Zenyatta’s safety on the line. She hasn’t seen Genji upset like that since the initial days of his training. There’s nothing they can do, anyway. He’s old enough to know what he’s doing.

It’s eerily quiet, their footsteps echoing as they travel up and up. The warehouse must be huge from how many flights it takes, but eventually they come to the top. Normally Angela would decode the door blocking their way ahead, but with no power Jesse has to blast it open by force, stepping inside quickly with his gun out ready. Angela whips hers out, too, but there’s nobody in here – no sign of life. It’s an open plan clerical area which seems to run along the length of the building, though they can see a corridor at the end that should lead through to the manager’s offices, and then again to the CEO’s, if their intel is to be believed. Angela looks around. There must be twenty rows of desks just in this office alone, with cabinets lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Everything is neat and tidy – unused looking, even. Jesse is instructed to walk carefully through, but he heads over to the windows which offer a view down on the warehouse below instead. Angela joins him, swallowing as she looks.

The southern entrance opens and the green light from Hana’s MEKA shines through, illuminating enough of the factory for them to get an idea of what it’s like down there despite being drenched in darkness. The warehouse is enormous. All the production equipment is still down there, its decommissioning so recent that nothing has been covered. Pulleys hang from the ceiling and the walls are densely filled with what appear to be hundreds of metal storage units. Conveyor belts, empty racks, steel cutters – it’s a structured maze of machinery, with Angela recognising much of the technology as being top of the line. This omnium must have cost millions.

“Too dark to tell what’s down there,” Jesse mutters. “Feels like the blind leading the blind, here.”

Angela holds a finger to her lips. They’re on a push-to-talk link with the comms team but she wouldn’t be surprised if they’re listening in.

“We gonna get a plan now or what?” he asks, addressing them. A chilling pause follows. “McCree here, do you copy?”

Nothing.

“Well. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way,” he sighs. “No comms.”

“No,” Angela says. “Come on, that – that’s a joke.”

The look on Jesse’s face tells her that it’s not. Angela tries herself but the line is completely dead, and she shakes her head, making a disgusted sound.

“Our first real assignment and they can’t even give us this,” she hisses. “Where’s all that money going? Things were never like this when it was Jack on the other end of the line!”

“Hey, c’mon now, Mercy. This ain’t so bad. Those suits wouldn’t have helped us anyway,” he says, nudging her. Jesse smiles, but it’s strained, and she can feel his unease in the way he turns to the window, the pull of his eyebrows as he watches Genji and Hana make their way through the warehouse. They should really start heading down through the offices, but Angela stays beside Jesse, watching the other two work their way through the warehouse.

“You guys lost your comms too?” Hana asks, her voice clear in their ears.

“Of course,” Jesse says.

“Ugh. What a bunch of morons.”

Jesse chuckles, a quiet sound that fills the empty office nonetheless. Angela steps closer to him, glancing around and behind them. The hair on the back of her neck is standing on end, conscious of the deathly silence surrounding them.

“Wouldja have it any other way?” Jesse asks her. Hana laughs, the clunking of her MEKA’s footsteps ringing around the warehouse.

“Nope. Hard mode’s fine with me,” she says, confidently. Being in her MEKA always seems to absolve her anxiety. Was it really three months ago when Angela was watching Lúcio comfort her in the boardroom back in London? Now that they’re here time seems to have flown past.

They haven’t heard a thing from Genji, though.

“Genji, can you hear us?” Angela asks, watching him move swiftly over the equipment that’s keeping the MEKA behind. He’s dexterous anyway but Genji’s movements are more erratic than usual, like he’s hyperaware of anything that might lead them closer to wherever Zen is being kept.

“Copy that,” he says, eventually. Angela breathes again, relieved that their group interlink is still working.

“Make sure you stay with D.va,” she instructs. “It’s just us and them, now. We need to stick together.”

Angela just wishes she knew where ‘they’ were. Their brief stated that the targets are two human Null Sector activists, but to expect a significant omnic presence upon entry. Zen is being held at the most northern point of the facility, so each pair needs to head up together, if they’re still going to try the pincer technique.

“You think there’s a basement?” Hana asks. Her MEKA is moving a little faster now, less cautious to match Genji’s stride.

“Negative,” Angela says. “We were told that i—”

All of a sudden the walls around them start shaking violently, and a long, low groan echoes around the warehouse. Angela holds Caduceus out to steady herself, her other hand reaching to Jesse, holding onto his cybernetic arm. The rumbling around them reverberates through her body.

“Earthquake?” she asks, but it doesn’t feel like one, not quite. Jesse shakes his head. He’s scowling out of the window, and when she watches his eyes widen in horror, dread cuts through to her core.

“No,” he says. “Them.”

Angela turns. She thinks they’re fairy lights at first – hundreds of them, lighting the surrounding walls of the factory so suddenly it’s dazzling. But they start to move, slowly, and as Angela’s eyes adjust to the brightness she watches as the storage units making up the factory walls begin to creak and shift – the cause of the violent shuddering around them.

No. They’re not storage units. They’re omnics, uncurling from where they’ve been built into the walls. The creaking of metal joints is a gut-wrenching sound that takes Angela straight back to the Uprising crisis, and while they appear to have a basic chassis – head and torsos attached to spindly arms and legs, little more than skeletons – they’re moving quickly, the scrape of steel on steel piercing through the facility as they crawl from the walls like mechanical spiders.

The MEKA’s light is drowned by the glow of a hundred sets of eyes. Visibility is no longer an issue, but the magnitude of the situation is a crushing weight on all of them. Genji and Hana stand back to back, encircled by the horde. They’re surrounded.

“Oh, god!” Angela says. “McCree, we have to get down there, we—”

“Shit,” he says. When she shoots a look at him he’s clutching his cybernetic arm, grimacing from the effort of trying to hold it still. It’s spasming wildly, the motors inside it that are usually silent now whirring like they’re being overclocked. This happened once before, a precursor to its loss of power.

“I can- I’ve got the fix – I can fix it!”

Angela pats down her Valkyrie. Where’s the port, the port with the patch, she attached it to the suit, just needs to plug it into him and--

“We’ve got this!” Genji says, the _shing_ of his drawn sword coming through his comms. “Go on ahead!”

Angela glances back out of the window, feeling sick as a swell of omnics hits the MEKA like a tidalwave. Hana screams in shock but grits her teeth halfway through, turning it into a ferocious growl.

“McCree! Mercy! Go and find Zenyatta!” she calls out, canons firing and blowing off a dozen of the omnics crawling all over her. Shrapnel sprays through the air only for the blown apart units to be replaced by a dozen more a second after, piling onto the MEKA like a pack of metal wolves. Genji slices through them like butter but there are too many for him to take on his own, and he jumps up onto one of the conveyor belts - higher still, then, onto a platform overlooking the main production line. The omnics follow him, a deafening clatter filling the warehouse as half of them merge into one giant swarm. In the second it takes for him to reach for his shuriken they loom up over him, eyes channelled into a spotlight on their target. They swallow him whole, and Angela watches, horrified, as they drag Genji down from the platform and up through the warehouse, until they’re in the darkness, out of sight.

“Oh my god,” she says, a dry sob as Genji’s comms produce static before dying out. Her hands are shaking when she finally releases the port from where it’s been attached to her bodice, going to plug it in only for Hana to scream again, abruptly, a piercing shriek in their ears. It’s not a sound of shock this time. It’s a sound of fear, cold and dreadful, pulled from her stomach.

“I- I can’t move!” she cries. Angela can see the MEKA is twitching but stationary, covered in omnics, and they can hear Hana’s hands on the joysticks, the _thunk thunk thunk_ as she yanks them, willing them to move. “It’s – I can’t – nothing’s working!”

Please not Hana as well. Angela plugs the port into Jesse’s arm, begging it to download quickly, please, please just hurry up, they need to get down there, they need to help. Oh, god, how could they have been led into this? What were they thinking, coming in so unprepared?

“Hang tight, D.va, we’re coming!” Jesse shouts, but Hana is still shrieking, the hammering of metal on glass followed by an ominous crunch _._

“I can’t - can’t – can’t do anything!” Hana tells him, choked by fear. His arm is still spasming from where the patch hasn’t worked and Jesse curses, disengaging it entirely, throwing it away from his body and down onto the floor. Now he’s without an arm – no way of easily reloading his gun.

Angela’s insides curdle, the realisation dawning on her that all of this tech – all of _her_ tech, on every member of the team – has been afflicted by whatever it is Null Sector have brought here. She should’ve fixed it. This is on _her._

“Watch out!” Jesse shouts. He tugs Angela away from the window with such force it makes her shout too, but she clings to him immediately as he fires a shot at the window to shatter it. He takes aim at the omnics on the MEKA, gunshots ringing out as he blasts them off the cockpit, but it doesn’t make any difference. More of them just keep crawling back.

“Bailing out!” Hana shouts, forced to eject.

“No!” Angela cries, releasing Jesse’s arm. She steps up onto the windowpane.

“Mercy, stop!” Jesse yells, throwing his gun down to swipe at her, trying to get her off it.

It’s too late. Hana ejects, and Angela jumps from the windowpane. She holds her arms out ready to swoop down to her, to try and shield her from the horde, but her wings don’t spread, don’t activate at all.

Her suit has lost power, too.

Angela crashes against the floor. The clatter of her suit alerts the omnics to her presence. They slither towards her from where they’d been ready to envelop Hana, leering over Angela instead, like they can smell her nanotechnology, ravenous for it. She panics, trying to push herself onto her hands and knees, but when she looks up there must be thirty sets of eyes peering down at her, a tower of omnics waiting to descend. Jesse is shooting at them from the window, blasting bits off of them, but the tower is too big, shifting, growing. Angela flinches, holding Caduceus out in a horizontal line in front of her. Her last defence.

“MERCY!”

The shout comes from above, and an explosion hits the front of the tower like a bolt of lightning. It bursts on impact, shrapnel filling the air like confetti. Angela shields her eyes from the heat of the blast and jerks back as something – someone - thumps down in front of her. When she peeks above her arm Angela’s breath escapes her as a sob.

It’s Junkrat.

“Cover your eyes!” he shouts, not looking back. He’s facing the omnic tower, his body a shield between her and them. The tower is trying to repair itself, building up again. Angela does as she’s told and Junkrat throws out a doubled up concussion mine, its blast so powerful she can feel it in her bones. When she squints between her arms she can see that the flames from the explosion reach the ceiling, destroying most of the surrounding machinery. The remaining omnics disband before swarming together again amongst the debris, disappearing off towards the northern end of the warehouse.

Junkrat turns around to face her, crouching down, frag launcher dropped to the floor. His face is coated in soot from the blast but his eyes are clear and shining as they look into hers, and when he reaches out to cup her face in his hands, Angela sobs again, tears welling up from the swell of emotion inside her.

“Are y’hurt?” Junkrat asks, his voice thick with- something, she can’t tell. He’s scowling, looking over her with urgency.

“I- I’m fine,” Angela breathes, the only words she can think of now that he’s here. When she manages to smile at him Junkrat’s scowl loosens into a look of concern.

“Christ, Angie, what’m I gonna do with you,” he says, smiling like he’s relieved. The way he’s looking at her - the softness in his eyes - makes something in Angela break.

“Oh, Junkrat,” she whimpers, dropping Caduceus to put her hands over his. Tears spill out over her face but Junkrat gently brushes them away, his metal thumb cool as it wipes the moisture off her cheek.

“Tch. And y’call me hopeless,” he says, quietly, so reverently. He’s gazing at her still, but the softness in his eyes is too much for her to bear and Angela starts to cry in earnest, overwhelmed by it, by him. He instantly pulls her close, shushing her, arms coming around her waist to tug her body flush against his. The adrenaline coursing through her isn’t quite enough to cancel out the pain from where she fell, but she grabs him back immediately, arms over his shoulders and hands gripped in his hair, needing to know that he’s real, that he’s _here._

“Bloody scared me half to death,” Junkrat murmurs. His breath is warm against the hair behind her ear and Angela shudders, trying to stifle her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and when Junkrat squeezes her a pained groan escapes before she can stop it. He jerks back away from her looking petrified – but he holds her arms even now, like he still doesn’t want to fully let go.

“You _are_ hurt!”

“I- I’m not, really, only from where I fell,” she tells him, grateful to have ebbed the flow of her tears. Junkrat finally lets go of her, frowning as he grabs hold of Caduceus. He presses it into her hands.

“Use it.”

“But it’s not, I don’t think it will--”

“Just use it, wouldja!”

Now he just looks angry. Angela holds his gaze but it’s clear to see he’s not willing to budge on this. As she suspected, even Caduceus is no longer working, though thankfully there’s enough residual charge in it that she’s able to get a small burst of healing. Angela exhales a shaky breath as the pain dissolves, and Junkrat leans in again, wiping away the tear streaks left on her face.

“Right, that’s better,” he says, eyebrows drawn together. “Can ya move?”

“Yes, I think so,” Angela says, fragile now that she’s stopped crying. Junkrat takes her hands in his and eases up with her, and then she’s back on her feet, looking up at him where he’s standing tall in front of her.

“There we go,” Junkrat says, gently. He still looks worried, and Angela just stands there as his eyes flit over her, dazed.

“I- I can’t believe you’re here,” she says, hitched where her breath is shallow. She squeezes his hands, unable to vocalise the thank you sitting in her throat, feeling like there’s so much, too much that she wants to say to him in this moment.

“’Course I’m here,” Junkrat says. "Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else right now, would I?"  
  
Her heart soars. He smiles at her, something almost bashful about it, and her chest tightens when he squeezes her hands back. He’s gazing at her again, an amber look of warmth and reverence, and on instinct she dares to give his hands a little tug, just enough for him to take a step forwards, closing the space between them.

“Oh,” Junkrat says, eyes widening like he wasn’t expecting this, and Angela is so overcome with all the things she wants to say that she almost forgets where they are, caught in the current between them.

There’s a heavy jingling coming from behind that snaps her out of it. She jolts, turning sharply to look, but it’s Roadhog jogging over to them, Jesse beside him. There’s a pulley from the ceiling swinging behind him – he must’ve used it to get down. Angela only just remembers to let go of Junkrat’s hands when they approach, a burst of hope filling her chest to see that they have even more support than she thought. Winston must have known that their team wouldn’t have been enough. Thank goodness.

“Mercy! Christ alive, you scared the living shit outta me jumping out like that!” Jesse says, scowling at her on his approach. He seems relieved, though. Roadhog stands beside him, and Angela could swear she sees him giving Junkrat a thumbs up from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, McCree, I just- I had to try,” she says. “I didn’t realise that was going to happen, that even my suit would…”

Her eyes drop to the space between them, crushed by the burden of her failings.

“This is all my fault. If- If I’d been able to figure out the problem then maybe we wouldn’t have been so unprepared.”

It’s nice to hear Junkrat and Jesse both scoff at this but it doesn’t lessen the guilt. Jesse reaches out, patting her shoulder with his remaining hand.

“This ain’t your fault in the least, doc,” he says, firmly. “I’m just glad to see you’re alright.”

“’Course she is,” Junkrat says, all nonchalance as he grabs his frag launcher off the ground. He grins when Angela casts a look over her shoulder at him, though, a certainty to it that manages to ease off a little of the burden after all.

Angela frowns, glancing past Junkrat up ahead. The MEKA is abandoned and in a terrible state, cockpit obliterated, legs and canons crushed and chunks of pink metal scattered over the floor around it.

“Oh my god,” she says, suddenly gripped with an acute fear. “Where’s D.va? And- Genji?”

“Lúcio got her,” Roadhog says, tipping his chin to gesture behind them. “Brought her back to reception. Couldn’t tell you where Genji is, though.”

“Oh no,” Angela says, the reassurance of Hana’s safety not nearly enough to douse the flames of her anxiety for Genji. She clutches her chest, thinking of him being swallowed up by the horde. The second abduction today. “We- we have to find him!”

There’s an echoing clatter from the other end of the warehouse, a sound of metal on metal that’s approaching fast. All at once the four of them bristle up, Jesse brandishing his gun and Roadhog stepping forward, his enormous hand gentle as he pushes Angela behind him.

“Stand back,” he tells her. She grips Caduceus, swallowing down her fear as best she can now that she’s shielded by the three of them.

Sure enough, another swarm comes into view. It’s impossible to tell if they’re the same omnics from before or a new batch, all manner of parts jumbled together from where they’ve aggregated into one. The explosion annihilated enough machinery to create an arena of space between them that’s littered with burnt metal, and the swarm approaches like the tide coming in. Even where she’s standing shielded behind the boys, Angela can make out a glimpse of green from inside the shifting mass.

“He- he’s in there!” she yells, but Junkrat throws his metal arm out to stop her when she goes to move forwards.

“Don’t you dare!” he shouts back at her, a snapped command that’s halting enough to shock her. Suddenly the omnic wave halts as though it’s hit an invisible wall, and a single golden omnic appears from behind the swarm.

It’s Zenyatta. Angela gasps as he glides up onto a conveyor belt, elevated enough to have a clear view over everyone, and it’s immensely comforting that he appears unharmed. The sight of him should be assuaging, uplifting - but instead the aura emanating from him is ominous, coils Angela’s belly into a thick knot of dread. He makes no motion of acknowledgement when she calls out to him, nor does he seem to be moving with his usual grace. That’s when Angela notices that the lights on his head that should be blue are yellow – that the orbs floating around him aren’t round, but hexagonal.

Beside him stand two humans – young men dressed in casual clothing. One of them is much shorter than the other and is holding a console of some sort. Considering they’ve just brought Overwatch it its knees, there’s nothing striking about them at all. If anything they look like students. Angela swallows, no longer comforted from seeing Zenyatta unharmed. What have they done to him?

“Shit, they’ve got him wired up,” Jesse says.

“Fucking knew it,” Junkrat says, bitterly.

The swarm hulks itself into a tower like before, but rather than advance on them it seems to heave – and then Genji is abruptly spat out from inside it, his suited body clattering bonelessly against the floor. Angela cries out for him, once again halted by Junkrat when she jerks forward to go to him, and the omnics disband, lining up like an army before their eyes. The men laugh.

“There, you can have him back,” the tall one says. “Don’t worry, he’s not dead. Not yet, anyway!”

Angela chokes, their words cutting right through her. They seem to cut through Jesse, too, from the way he recoils in front of her. Junkrat and Roadhog, standing side by side, nod at one another before hunkering down. The shorter man points over to Angela.

“C’mon, sweetheart, aren’t you worried him?” he leers. “Go and take a look!”

Angela can’t stand it anymore. Against her rational judgement she shoves Junkrat’s arm aside and rushes out, ignoring him when he shouts at her to get back, when Jesse shouts too. She falls onto her knees beside Genji’s discarded body, turning him over, and uses what little charge remains in Caduceus on him. He twitches, making a groggy sound before starting to pull himself up.

“Genji? Oh, thank god! It’s me, it’s Mercy! Angela! Can you hear me?”

Angela smiles, relief washing over her when he sits up. He turns to face her slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, perfectly still as he just seems to look at her.

“H... Help me, Angela,” he says, voice chillingly quiet. Angela hesitates.

“What – what’s wrong?”

Genji’s entire body surges at her. The movement is so fast Angela has no time to react. He shoves her hard against the floor and her breath dies in her throat, his hands on her neck, clamping together, crushing it.

“G- Genji--” Angela chokes, scratching at his hands to try and pry him off her.

“Angela – I - I can’t stop!” Genji cries, distraught. His grip tightens and he shoves her once again, and Angela thinks he’s going to break her skull or snap her neck outright when all at once he’s wrenched off her.

Roadhog’s brute strength allows him to throw Genji out across the floor, and as soon as he scrambles to his feet, Junkrat is in front of him.

“I don’t fucking think so, mate!”

He punches Genji square in the face with his metal fist. The force is enough to knock the visor and faceplate clean off, and Genji collapses over onto his back, yelling out in pain.

“Ohhh, nice one!” the taller man laughs. “Wasn’t expecting that!”

Roadhog and Jesse are beside Angela in seconds, helping her sit up as she gasps to get her breath back, light-headed from where she was knocked, nauseous from the jeering of the man ahead. She watches Genji pull himself back up, blood running down from his nose. Junkrat marches over to him, frag launcher back in his metal hand, taking aim. As if things couldn’t get any more hopeless, Zenyatta is just silently watching over this. Angela hopes desperately he isn’t conscious to see this – to see what Genji is doing. It might break his heart even more than it’s breaking hers.

“I’m not trying to attack you, my body is moving on its own!” Genji says, desperately, and she can see in his eyes that he’s horrified.

“Ch’yeah, I’m _sure_ it is,” Junkrat spits, voice drenched in sarcasm. “Let me guess, those humans telling you what to do, are they??”

Junkrat fires at him. Genji deflects the grenade with his sword before dashing forwards and slashing at him, only to be blocked by his metal arm, the clash loud enough to make Angela wince.

“Stop it!” she cries, voice breaking and hoarse. “Junkrat, he’s being controlled!”

“I bloody well know that!” he shouts over to her. Genji lands a sharp kick on his stomach, sending him flying back. Beside her Roadhog flinches, and Angela clutches her chest as Genji advances with a jerking step, like he’s battling himself even now. His eyes are wide, frightened, so obviously at odds with what his body is doing. Junkrat pulls himself up, grimacing with his human hand over his stomach. The men just seem to be laughing at them, enjoying the show.

“We gotta take those guys out,” Jesse murmurs, nodding over to them. “Mercy, I’m gonna need that pistol of yours. Things are gonna get real nasty, real quick, and I need as much ammo as I can get.”

Angela hands it over without question, another layer of guilt to add to a growing pile now that everything is falling apart around them. 

“If we move now, that army’s gonna overwhelm us,” Roadhog says.

“Gotta figure out a way of gettin' over there – pickin’ ‘em off.”

“We can’t do anything that’ll put Zenyatta at risk,” Angela says, voice cracking. Jesse nods instantly, but the low, unconvinced rumble that comes from Roadhog seems to imply that he doesn’t agree. Angela glares up at him, wondering if he knows that this is supposed to be a rescue mission, but his face is hidden as always behind his mask, watching in silence while Genji and Junkrat fight one another.

Angela grimaces, feeling useless, helpless. What are they supposed to do? If she could – if one of them could aim for the shorter one without him noticing and get in one good shot, they could destroy the console from his hand, if that’s what they’re using to control Zen. But then what if it’s not, and the army of omnics comes crashing down on them? Would they be swallowed up like Genji too?

Until they can figure out a plan they’re stuck in this, a salvageable mission that’s turning into a living nightmare and unfolding right before their eyes.

Genji runs at Junkrat from where they’d knocked one another back, and Junkrat throws his metal arm up again, sword striking it, nails over chalkboard as metal scrapes against metal _._ Both of them are spattered with blood from Genji’s nose and the slashes over Junkrat’s exposed chest, and while Angela knows Junkrat is only trying to defend himself, watching him like this, all fire and ferocity, is terrifying.

“I’m telling you, this isn’t me!” Genji insists, shoulders tight from the force of holding his sword against Junkrat’s arm.

“I know it isn’t!” Junkrat says, overpowering him with a forceful shove. Genji stumbles back but retains his footing. “It’s that fucking omnic!”

Oh no, Angela thinks, heart sinking.

“Zenyatta is not to blame for this,” Genji says, sword pointed at him. Junkrat spits out a mouthful of blood and laughs.

“Y’mean to tell me the omnic presiding over this ain’t responsible? Don’t kid y’self,” he snipes.

“Zenyatta is one of us!” Genji shouts.

“He’s one of _them_!” Junkrat snarls.

“Junkrat!” Angela yells, shocked. Even Jesse recoils beside her, but Roadhog is silent.

“What’re you talking about?!” Jesse calls out, bewildered. “Zenyatta isn’t the enemy here!”

Junkrat doesn’t look at either of them. “Sorry,” he yells, “but I ain’t convinced!”

Angela covers her mouth. What – what’s he thinking? Has he gone mad?!

“If you dare touch him,” Genji starts, a heavy threat left hanging in the air between them. Angela watches powerlessly as his eyes narrow – as he steps closer to Junkrat, something more controlled about his movement now. It frightens her to think that it might be of his own accord, this time.

“What? You’ll kill me?” Junkrat sneers. His face is all soot and blood, eyes piercing, grin menacing.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Genji says, the words ground out. “Now, I am not so sure.”

“Genji, stop it! Stop this!” Angela cries out, wanting to scream at this nightmare that’s turning into hell.

“Thought as much,” Junkrat laughs, a humourless sound. “And it’s all because of _him_!”

All it takes is Junkrat aiming upwards – at Zenyatta – for Genji to dash towards him, sword drawn.

“I’ll _destroy_ you!” Genji shouts, slashing at Junkrat’s metal arm over and over, wanting to hurt him now, wanting to kill.

“Do your fucking worst!” Junkrat shouts back, his metal arm a bludgeon, striking against the sword with heart-stopping force.

“Please, we have to – they’re going to kill each other!” Angela sobs, grabbing hold of Roadhog’s arm to find he’s already tensed, already surging forwards to step in.

“Now!” the taller man says. He shoves the shorter one, and the lights on Zenyatta’s head flash from yellow to red. The army of omnics under their control rush forwards and Jesse alone is left standing in front of Angela, Roadhog storming over to Junkrat. With no gun of her own and no healing she can give, all Angela can do is wield Caduceus as a weapon as the surge of omnics heads right for them - but her eyes are stuck on Genji and Junkrat, heart hammering, knowing that this is the result of her failings. All of this is her own fault.

“Eat shit, assholes!” comes Hana’s voice, followed by two neat blasts from her pistol.

All of a sudden the men cry out in agony, collapsing over the conveyor belt and onto the charred flooring below. The lights in Zenyatta’s head shift from red back to blue, and he groans, clutching his head. Lúcio appears, there to grab him as his body sinks, and as he does the omnics clatter lifelessly to the ground. Genji falters, too, and in that split second Junkrat just about manages to stop himself from punching him again, recoiling as Genji collapses at his feet.

“Took your time, didn’t ya?” Jesse calls over, and Lúcio lifts his head, horrified as he looks out over the devastation left in front of them.

“I tried to get us through as quickly as possible but they were crawling around everywhere,” he says. Hana kneels down beside him, both of them checking over Zenyatta.

Angela rushes to Genji, running past Junkrat to get to him. She’s on her knees before him again, and when she turns to look back at Junkrat, stood with Roadhog by his side, she’s relieved to see what she’s hoping is remorse on his soot-covered face.

“Ah, that was _so_ satisfying,” Hana laughs, standing up. “C’mon, guys, that was baby tier! Easiest shots of my life!”

Angela is preoccupied using her healing beam on Genji now that it’s working again, but she can hear Jesse give an ever-suffering _ugh_ behind her. She’s grateful for it, though – indebted to Hana for swooping in like this and rescuing them with two shots from her pistol. When Genji is sitting up again, the blood from his nose already drying, Angela allows her body to slump from the overwhelming of knowing that finally, finally, this awful mission – this endless deployment in Japan - is _over_.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Mercy is finally heading home!!!
> 
> I cannot give enough thanks to my beta reader one_irradiated_muppet for this chapter, as well as the last. Please check out her fics here on AO3 - Mercyrat and Roadhog - as without her input I would NOT have been able to do this. 
> 
> Thank you so much once again for the reads, kudos and comments, I can't tell you guys how amazing it is to get so much feedback. Cannot WAIT to write the next two chapters!!!!


	8. 風を探して

When the agents are brought back to headquarters for medical attention, Angela devotes herself entirely to Genji and Zenyatta, assessing the extent of their physical damage and finding out what exactly they were infected with. With the help of the Japanese research team her devotion eventually pays off, and after three solid days of scrupulous monitoring and testing, she’s very happy to be giving both of them the all-clear on the Wednesday following their mission.

It’s been tough, but Angela can’t remember the last time she felt so relieved to be writing out someone’s fitness certificate ready for their return to work. With no recollection of what happened prior to and after his abduction it’s been impossible to figure out how those two men were capable of incapacitating and infecting Zenyatta like they did. Angela’s job, however, is not to interrogate him on what happened, but to ensure that all traces of the virus in his system have been quarantined and removed for analysis. The virus controlling Zenyatta was transmitted wirelessly, a bespoke god program that slipped through the net of Overwatch’s exceptionally robust antivirus software. It explains how Jesse and Genji were afflicted by the same issue without Angela being able to identify it, and while she’ll never get those weeks of futile investigation back, it eases some of her guilt knowing that this was beyond Overwatch’s realm of knowledge - and more specifically, beyond her own.

As the dust settles, news comes through from London that their deployment is officially coming to an end. Angela is writing up her final report on Wednesday evening, and she feels absolutely ready for their flight home on Saturday when the e-ticket pops up in her inbox. The deployment as a whole has been draining, but this week especially so - Angela is sure that she’s spent more time in headquarters than she has done at home these last few days. Thank goodness all this time she’s been putting in has been worthwhile in the end.

With the boys signed off and her report completed, Angela allocates Thursday morning for catching up on everyone else’s condition. She hasn’t checked in with anyone herself as the rest of the team have been taken care of by the other on-site doctors, but two email invitations come through from the nanotechnology clinic for her to personally sign off Jesse and Junkrat’s cybernetics. She accepts Jesse’s without a second thought, needing to know that his arm is working as it should, but Angela hesitates when it comes to Junkrat’s, sitting back in her chair with something uncomfortable stirring inside her as she reads his name in the subject field.

She’s been too rushed off her feet to dwell on it, but whenever she’s had a moment to think about him it’s been a struggle to reconcile her feelings. Junkrat was worryingly quick to put the blame on Zenyatta for what happened, and it’s concerning that he seemed so willing to attack Zenyatta when he was supposed to be their backup for his rescue. Angela understands why Junkrat would do this – understands that he was acting in anger, in the heat of the moment – but it doesn’t make his attitude towards one of their own any easier to swallow. She was really hoping that he’d have taken a more open-minded approach to meeting him.

In fairness, though, this was his first real encounter with Zenyatta, and unfortunately it wasn’t a positive one. She also has to give him credit. Junkrat looked remorseful in the immediate aftermath and she can’t blame him for defending himself against Genji. It was a terrible situation that none of them should’ve been in at all, and Junkrat had no choice but to fight him, being one of the only agents without any of Angela’s technology to inhibit his movement. If it hadn’t been another of Junkrat’s never-ending surprises, it would be inconceivable to think that his self-made prosthetics ended up being such an advantage. Lifesaving, in fact.

The cursor hovers over the _Decline_ button on Junkrat’s appointment. Angela chews her lip, glancing down at her phone. It’s on the desk next to the keyboard, having been mostly abandoned throughout this week while she’s been so busy working on Genji and Zenyatta. Junkrat texted her a couple of times on Monday asking if she was okay, and she’d answered him then, asked if he was okay, too. Aside from that it’s been days since they last spoke to one another, almost like he knows she hasn’t been in the right frame of mind to talk to him.

But Angela would be lying to herself if she acted like she didn’t want to see him again - properly, this time, outside of everything that happened. Her heart still clenches in her chest whenever she thinks about how selflessly he put himself between her and those omnics, how he dropped his weapon without hesitation to crouch down in front of her. His hands cupping her face and the way he looked at her, held her against him so tightly it hurt. She must’ve relived it a dozen times or more by now, always at night, the last thing on her mind before going to sleep. _‘Course I’m here_ , like it was a given, followed by the distance she wishes she’d closed.

Angela can’t believe she’s even thinking of declining this. Before the mission she would’ve jumped at any opportunity to see him again, for any length of time, in or outside of work. It doesn’t even seem real that he’s here right now, finally in the same timezone, the same country, the same building as she is.

Well… she can’t pretend that Junkrat’s attitude isn’t worrying, but she can’t pretend she doesn’t want to see him, either. It’s also her duty to ensure that he’s fit for work the same as it is any other agent. Her feelings should hold no bearing on this. Angela takes a breath and hits _Accept_ instead.

It’s only a fifteen minute appointment as all that’s needed is a once over. Angela busies herself with paperwork, trying to reshape her indescribable feelings about seeing him into a professional need to assess his arm. There isn’t time to fret over it, anyway – soon enough there’s a knock at the door, metal on wood, and Angela remains seated as she would for anyone else attending an appointment in her office. She feels nervous when the door cracks open.

“Come in,” she calls.

Junkrat moves with caution, poking his head around the door before closing it and stepping inside. Angela’s smile is trained and polite – the smile she offers all colleagues – but it doesn’t last long. Junkrat looks drained, lacking his usual energy as he pulls up the chair opposite her and drops heavily into it. He smiles back at her but even that seems hesitant, like he’s nervous, too, and Angela can see in his eyes that he’s tired. Even his face isn’t as dirty as usual. Angela somehow doubts this is because he’s taken to bathing more in the few days he’s been here.

“You look exhausted,” she says, eyebrows knitting in concern. Junkrat laughs.

“Well, g’day to you too!” He rubs across his eyes with his human hand and blinks widely, trying to wake himself up.

“Sorry,” Angela says, feeling terrible for instantly commenting on his appearance. “I just- are you alright? Is it the jetlag?”

“It’s – yeah. Just jetlag,” Junkrat says, shaking his head. He straightens up in his chair, smile wider now, more confident. “No need to worry about me!”

Angela should be convinced by this, but she regrets mentioning jetlag when it feels so much like it’s an excuse for something else.

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking at him searchingly. Junkrat scratches his neck.

“Jesus, I don’t look _that_ bad, do I?”

He’s still smiling, but there’s embarrassment in his eyes that makes Angela feel even worse. He’s gone a little red.

“I- no, not at all,” she says, clearing her throat. She turns her attention back to the monitor, needing a distraction from Junkrat’s eyes on her.

“Good! Had me worried for a moment there.” He laughs again, uncertainly this time.

Angela is very aware that her hands have gone clammy. Why is this so… awkward? She’s been desperately looking forward to seeing him again but now that he’s here it’s like the air around them is stifling, bursting at the seams with everything she wants to ask, to say.

“Sorry,” she says. “Just, um. Wanted to make sure you’re alright, after- everything.”

“Angie, I’m _fine._ Seen enough bloody doctors this week to know.” His smile falters when she chances a look at him. “Are, uh. You alright?”

Now it’s Angela’s turn to laugh. What’s going on? In all the time they’ve spent talking she doesn’t think things have ever felt so stilted between them, like neither one of them knows quite what to say.

“I’m fine, yes, thank you,” she says, cursing herself for sounding so stiff. “Very glad the week is almost over.”

“Tch, typical,” Junkrat says, folding his arms. “Can’t believe I’ve been here all of five days and already everyone’s buggerin’ off!”

Angela’s smile comes naturally as she brings up his medical profile, grateful that if Junkrat is aware of the tension between them, he’s doing a better job than she is of pretending it isn’t there.

"It would have been nice to have some time to unwind, I must admit," she says. 

“Think you've earned it after all this," he says. "Shame we couldn't have gone for karaoke or something."

Angela hasn’t done any karaoke in all the time she’s been here. It would probably be a lot of fun with Junkrat – and the others too, actually, but somehow nobody has suggested it. Angela supposes she’s been too keen to get home in the evenings. Going out with the others for more than just a meal hadn’t even crossed her mind, outside of a few weekend group outings.

“That's true. I’m sure you’d be looking forward to going home too though, if you’d been here for two months,” she says. He’s quiet for a moment.

“Wish I had been here for the last two months to be honest,” Junkrat mumbles.

Angela’s stomach flips over. She turns to face him, meeting his eyes. Junkrat’s smile is bashful now and it sends her heart into her throat, his expression so honest and open it takes her a moment to remember where they are, why he’s sitting here with her. There’s no time to broach the delicate subject of the mission, so there certainly isn’t time to even begin deconstructing their texts, his rescue, everything that’s been left unspoken between them since he arrived.

“I’d better take a look at your arm,” she says, breaking eye contact. She gestures for him to bring it across the desk that separates them. “We don’t have a lot of time, Jesse will be in after you.”

“Oh. Right, gotcha,” Junkrat says, leaning over and offering his right arm without hesitation, unlike the last time she asked to have a look. Suddenly the three months that’ve passed since their first meeting seem like years, yet Angela can’t believe how she’s come to care so much for him in what has really been a very short amount of time - especially since the majority of it has been spent in separate countries. Even now, with her lingering concern about his attitude during the mission, Angela’s heart is beating fast as ever just from being in his presence. Seems like she missed Junkrat even more than she realised.

Anyway, she needs to focus on work, not on how she feels. Now isn’t the right time. They probably need to get back home before she can properly assess how best to go about this… whatever it is that’s hanging in the air between them.

“Whaddya reckon then?” Junkrat asks, after she’s had a gentle poke around his arm. Angela frowns, still focused on his fingers, gently spreading them apart to see the wiring around the joints.

“Think it’s going to need a bit of a fix when we return,” she says. “I assume you’ve already patched it up yourself?”

“As much as I can here, yeah. Didn’t bring half me stuff along what with our departure being so sudden.”

Angela glances up at him. Junkrat’s got his chin in his human palm, looking at the rest of her office. There isn’t much to see in here, just a sparsely populated bookshelf that houses some Japanese language guides and medical textbooks. She hasn’t spent long enough here to deck her office out, really. Yet another unfinished space.

“I’m, um. Surprised that you didn’t text me to say you were coming,” she says, quietly. Junkrat’s eyebrows lift up at her. He’s red again, probably wasn’t expecting her to bring it up. Neither was she, actually.

“Believe me, Angie, I wanted to,” he says, sounding serious now, frowning. “But they told us if we blew our cover it mighta put you lot in even more danger. Couldn’t have that.”

Angela swallows. She draws a breath to say something but Junkrat startles her by taking her hand in his, the metal cool on her clammy skin.

“S’the hardest bloody secret I’ve ever kept. You can trust me on that one,” he says, so deeply it sends a shiver down her spine. Junkrat’s eyes are focused on hers, and it’s a struggle to find her breath again. Angela wets her lips. At least he won’t be able to feel the sweat, she thinks, having to break his gaze and look down - down at the metal hand that saved her life, belonging to the man she hasn’t stopped thinking about for weeks.

“Thank you,” she says, shakily. Junkrat squeezes her hand.

“No need for that. Just glad you’re alright. And that, y’know, you’re not tellin’ me I need a new bloody arm,” he adds, laughing.

“Gosh, no, absolutely not,” Angela says, breathing out a laugh of her own. She smiles sadly at him. “You’ve made an excellent case for yourself, to say the least. I’d hate to think of what would’ve happened if you’d been affected, too. If I’d been foolish enough to force you into using my technology way back then.”

Oh, god. She wasn’t planning on coming out with this – has been trying not to think about it at all, overwhelmed with guilt whenever it’s crept into her mind. Angela bites her lip and looks away from Junkrat, only for him to reach out with his human hand, too, commanding her attention by holding her hand in both of his.

“Ohhh no no,” Junkrat tells her, scowling. “Noho _hoooo_ way! Don’t think I’m gonna sit here and listen to that rubbish, not when you’ve been working your bloody arse off trying to fix everyone’s problems all on your pat!”

Angela isn’t familiar with this expression, but she’s immediately endeared to it knowing it’s probably Australian slang. He must be referring to the lack of help she received last month, trying to figure out what was going on with the boys completely on her own.

“Won’t have you beating y’self up over something that don’t need worrying about!” Junkrat says. His gaze is unwavering, intense. “Understand?”

Angela’s throat is constricted by the inability to put her gratitude into words. She just about manages a nod, and the severity on Junkrat’s face loosens.

“Good,” he puffs out, like he’s exhausted from the effort of being strict. That bashful smile from before pulls over his lips and he squeezes her hand again. “Sheesh. Y’know, Angie, I really--”

A sudden and insistent knock makes both of them jump. Angela jerks back into her chair, eyes darting between Junkrat and the door.

“I- I think – we’ll have another look at your arm when we’re back in London,” she says, hurriedly. “I’ll email Dr. Kanzaki and let her know that I’m happy to sign you off for now.”

“Sure! Yeah, that’s – that’d be great!” Junkrat says, flustered and embarrassed again as he stands back up.

“I’ll, ah – see you later?” Angela asks, standing up with him, once again having to say goodbye when she isn’t at all ready.

“You best had,” Junkrat says, grinning over at her before he opens the door. “See ya later, Angie.”

Angela waves him away and greets Jesse with all the composure she can muster, trying to focus while she checks over his arm. The Japanese team helping her with Genji and Zenyatta have invited her out to dinner tonight for a goodbye party, otherwise she would’ve been tempted to ask if Junkrat wanted to just – go out, have a proper catch up outside the confines of work. A couple of drinks, maybe, those drinks she owes him that he still hasn’t forgotten.

God, what was he going to say?? Oh, why, _why_ couldn’t they have had more time!

She signs Jesse off and stews over what on earth to do when she’s on the train after her shift. Even Jesse said during his appointment that he wishes they could’ve had one last dinner together as a big group, but Angela doubts that’ll be on the cards now that Junkrat and Roadhog are here. For all of her wonderful feelings about him, she can’t see Junkrat getting along too well with Genji. He might not want to go out at all if Zenyatta was to come along for a final meal together, an acutely disappointing thought that makes Angela feel guilty for being so excited to see him again. It’s frighteningly easy to forget Junkrat’s awful attitude towards omnics when he’s so incredibly charming and sweet with her.

Angela wants to be optimistic, though, and wonders if perhaps both Junkrat and Genji may want to patch things up before leaving. They’re still coworkers, after all, and regardless of Junkrat’s attitude, the mission was a success. It should’ve been clear to him by the end of it all that Zenyatta wasn’t at fault.

An idea strikes at the dinner table when Angela and her colleagues are waiting to be served. She’s barely had any time to enjoy herself in all the weeks she’s spent in Japan, and as they’re all returning to London on the same flight, surely it couldn’t hurt to ask.

Angela downs the rest of her wine for an extra burst of courage, and opens up a new group chat on her phone. She adds everyone in – Hana, Genji, Jesse and now Junkrat – and types out a message to all of them while her colleagues chatter in Japanese around her.

_Hi all. :) Just had a thought. As we’re flying out on Saturday, I was wondering if we should make the most of our final night here in Tokyo and go out for a nice meal. If you’d like, you would all be welcome to stay the night at my house in Setagaya so we can travel to the airport together in the morning. I have plenty of futons, a spare bedroom, and a couch, so if this sounds good, let me know and bring your suitcases to HQ tomorrow!_

She hits send immediately, not wanting to waste time or convince herself that she’s being stupid. What’s the use in having a nice home here if she can’t even invite her friends over? It’s also late already, so if they _do_ want to take her up on this Angela needs to know now so she can prepare the necessary bedding tonight. It would be wonderful to have guests for a change, and at least her Japanese house isn’t an unfinished mess like her country home back in England. Considering how much she’s loved going to dinner with the other agents – even coming out now with her Japanese coworkers - Angela hasn’t been assertive enough about arranging social events for herself.

It also means she’d be able to spend more time with Junkrat before they all return home. Perhaps they could all do karaoke, seeing as he wanted to go so much. Hopefully he’ll be up for coming over, anyway, though she can’t really see him saying no to it, not after all of their texts.

Angela is confident that she’ll get a positive response from everyone, but she’s still nervous while waiting to hear from them. Her colleagues provide an ample distraction in the meantime, and after their food has been served and her phone starts to ping with messages, Angela’s anxiety gives way to excitement as she reads the preview banners appearing on her home screen.

_Jesse  
Sounds great to me doc. _

_D.VA!!  
oh wow like an Overwatch slumber party?? _

_Jesse_  
_Ugh. Well, I was gonna say yes, but now I’m not so sure…_

 _D.VA!!_  
_oh come ONnnn Jesse don’t be such a baby!_  
_btw can Lúcio come too? :3a_

 _Jesse_  
_You sure you’re gonna have room for all of us?_  
  
_Junkrat_  
_Consider me there!!!! Lol_

  
Angela brightens. Yes! She knew he’d be up for it! She types her reply quickly, not wanting to be rude when she’s supposed to be celebrating with her colleagues.

 

 _Angela_  
_Yes, there’s plenty of room for everyone!_  
_Hana please do invite Lúcio, I didn’t have his number to hand._  
_Junkrat I don’t have Roadhog’s number either, so please feel free to invite him as well._

_Junkrat  
Will do :P_

_Angela  
We can sort out who is sleeping where tomorrow. So long as I know how many, I can get everything prepared tonight._

_Jesse  
Alright, if you’re sure. _

_Genji  
Thanks for the invite :) but Zenyatta and I will sit this one out. Hope you all have fun._

_Jesse  
What, don’t you want in on our “slumber party”? Lol_

_D.VA!!  
I’ll braid your hair and everything  ;)_

_Lúcio_  
_uh, dibs on the braiding_  
_also thanks for the invite, doc!_

_D.VA!!  
lmao like your braiding skills are better than mine_

_Lúcio  
dude, I learned from my little sister. My braids are SICK_

_Genji  
Haha. Thank you, but we will see you tomorrow to say goodbye after the debriefing :) _

  
Oh. This isn’t quite what she was hoping to hear from Genji, and she’d completely forgotten about the debriefing tomorrow. Angela knows Zenyatta will handle the situation as gracefully as ever, but she isn’t so sure about the other two, picturing an argument or even another fight if Genji can’t understand Junkrat’s omnic-related misgivings, or if Junkrat’s anger hasn’t cooled off.

Pointless worrying about that now, Angela thinks, preoccupied with the cheers going around the table as her colleagues clink their glasses. She’s sad that Genji and Zenyatta won’t be joining them, but there’s a tiny part of Angela that’s slightly relieved by it, too, comforted by the idea of being able to have a night out with almost everyone without worrying about any clashes or unease. She’ll just have to say her goodbyes to Genji and Zenyatta tomorrow, separately.

Angela is merry on her way back to Setagaya after dinner, her Japanese colleagues having bought her some exquisitely wrapped gifts in thanks for her hard work. She feels warm all over when she’s back home – from a lovely evening, the excitement of having guests, the knowledge that she’s returning home - and pours herself a green tea before getting out the futons and bedding in preparation for tomorrow, now that she knows who’s coming to stay.

Tomorrow, she thinks, grinning helplessly to herself while pulling out the bed linen. Tomorrow is finally her last day here!

Angela’s excitement keeps her giddy throughout the following morning. She says her goodbyes to the Japanese medical and nanotechnology teams and after lunch she’s in the boardroom with the rest of the agents, waiting for their videoconference with London. They’re also waiting for Junkrat and Roadhog to arrive as they seem to be running late. Genji and Zenyatta are in good spirits, though, and so far nobody has commented on the Junkers, which Angela takes to be a positive sign. Perhaps there’s no reason to be nervous after all.

When the Junkers arrive shortly before the meeting is due to start they take a seat by the doorway, meaning they’re opposite Genji and Zenyatta around the other side of the boardroom. Angela can feel Genji bristle beside her, and while she was beginning to wonder if things might just be alright, she notices that the other agents seem to be looking over at the Junkers uncertainly.

Angela makes eye contact with Junkrat for about a second before the videofeed comes on. In that second he smiles at her easily, and Roadhog offers her a little wave, too. Well, at least they don’t seem angry, she thinks, but she’s still nervous, hoping their friendliness will set the tone for the rest of the day.

“So, you’ve been given the all clear by Dr. Ziegler?” asks a suit, about two hours into the conference.

“I have, yes, thank you,” Zenyatta tells him. The suit nods his approval.

“Excellent, that’s what we like to hear. Have you been able to remember anything prior to your abduction?”

Angela frowns at this, wishing they could at least pretend to be more concerned about Zenyatta’s wellbeing.

“I am afraid not,” he says, with a soft shake of his head. “Should I recall anything in the coming days, or even weeks, I will be sure to inform you as soon as possible.”

The suit opens his mouth again but Winston leans forward, cutting him off before he can ask anything else.

“So long as you’re alright, that’s all we’re concerned about,” Winston says, smiling confidently.

“We’re still trying to work out what exactly happened with our comms link to you guys,” says another suit, offering a haphazard laugh. “Rest assured that it won’t happen again, though.”

Angela purses her lips. Her eyes flick over to Jesse, and in that moment he acknowledges her with slightly raised eyebrows. Neither of them can say anything while they’re on the videofeed, but it’s appalling that this is probably the only ‘apology’ they’re going to receive for being so thoroughly let down during the mission. The meeting continues, anyway, and Angela has to swallow down her disgust while Winston talks them through what happened in London, when Lúcio and the Junkers were deployed. He must have surmised from her reports that additional resources were needed who wouldn’t be hindered by any malfunctioning cybernetics.

The atmosphere in the room is tense as the meeting pans out. Angela can’t tell if it’s due more to the lingering animosity between Junkrat and Genji or the peripheral anger amongst all of them with the idiots on the other end of the call - except for Winston, of course. Hours later when the debriefing is finally over, the agents filter out of the boardroom. More than anything it’s a relief to be standing up again, moving after sitting for hours, but as soon as Angela leaves the room a cold weight drops in her belly.

Genji and Junkrat are staring at each other. Roadhog and Zenyatta are standing beside them, and by the coffee machine Hana, Lúcio and Jesse have prickled up, watching and waiting with bated breath to see what’s about to happen.

It’s jarring to see them like this, Genji in a smart shirt and pants, Junkrat in a hoodie and shorts while they glare at one another. Like chalk and cheese, Angela thinks, on edge as neither one of them says a word. Are they… are they really going to fight, in casual clothing, on their last day working together?

“Genji,” Zen says, gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Genji’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look away from Junkrat. He takes a step forward.

Junkrat’s arms unfold. Roadhog gives him a shove, and he grumbles as he steps forward, too.

Angela holds her breath. She’s terrified, dreading to think who’s going to throw the first punch - only for Genji to sharply extend his hand, and Junkrat to take it instantly, grasping it tight.

“I am sorry for attacking you,” Genji says, stiffly.

Angela gasps.

“Sorry for what I said,” Junkrat says back, the words clunky and forced but there. They’re still glaring at one another, but they shake hands, a curt but polite movement. Genji steps back so that Zenyatta can move forward in his place. He extends his hand to Junkrat, too.

“Please accept my sincere apologies for causing you such understandable alarm,” he says, softly. Junkrat hesitates, eyes flicking over Zen like he’s still wary, but he takes Zen’s extended hand and shakes it.

“You’re alright,” Junkrat grumbles. He doesn’t smile, but the scowl that was so pronounced on his face has softened, and Angela feels like she needs another four hour meeting so she can sit down and recover from the shock of all this.

Luckily, Genji appears in front of her, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Angela,” he says, warmly now, scars twisting as he smiles at her. “I cannot begin to thank you enough for all that you’ve done for Zenyatta and I.”

Angela laughs breathily, having come dangerously close to fainting. “You’ve already thanked me, Genji. You know that I’ll always do anything I can to help you – help both of you, anytime.”

Suddenly, Genji pulls her into a hug. “I hope that we can see each other again soon.”

“Me too,” she tells him honestly, smiling as she hugs him back. It’s only a brief squeeze, but it’s more than enough to reaffirm their closeness despite how little they see one another these days. She’s sure she can feel Junkrat’s eyes on her, but when she glances across from over Genji’s shoulder he’s looking away, standing beside Lúcio who’s patting Zenyatta on the back.

Angela lets go of Genji and finds herself sad that this is the last time she’ll be seeing him for a while, but brimming with pride at his maturity. What a fine young man he’s become, she thinks, watching as he turns to say his goodbyes to the rest of the team.

“S’a damn shame he didn’t wanna come with us,” Jesse sighs, when they’re on the elevator down to reception. Angela smiles at him.

“I imagine he wants to spend time with Zenyatta, after everything that’s happened. They’ve spent the better part of a week quarantined away from one another.”

“Mm. Well, here’s hoping they might come over for the Christmas party, if there even is one.”

Angela laughs. “Gosh. It’s Halloween next week, isn’t it? I assume nothing has been organised?”

“Afraid not,” Lúcio sighs. “Winston told us before we were posted out that he’s had no time at all to arrange anything.”

“Awww, that’s no fun! I was _so_ looking forward to another party!” Hana says. It’s only the four of them in this elevator as they’re smaller than the ones in London, too cramped for five plus Roadhog.

“It’ll be December before you know it,” Angela tells her. “If he hasn’t been able to do anything for Halloween, I’m certain he’ll do something extra special for Christmas.”

The six of them regroup in reception, saying their final goodbyes to the receptionist who hands over their suitcases. Then they’re leaving, exiting headquarters for the last time before returning to the UK. Unfortunately it’s rush hour, the worst possible time to leave judging by how packed the station platform is. With suitcases in tow this is more of a predicament than usual, and Angela wonders how they’re going to fit on the same carriage amongst all the businessmen waiting for the train. She’s also aware that the Junkers are sort of staying back from the rest of them – that Junkrat looks unhappy, and Roadhog has his arms folded, seemingly unimpressed. Angela gestures for them to come closer. It takes another nudge from Roadhog, but Junkrat steps up to the group as well, not unhappy so much as he is sheepish all of a sudden.

The train pulls in just as Angela goes to ask him what’s wrong, and Jesse holds his arm out to allow Hana and Lúcio onto the train first. Roadhog serves to not only be an excellent barrier against the swarm of businessmen vying for a spot, but also a deterrent, and with Jesse inside the carriage Roadhog steps in to create enough space for Angela and Junkrat. It’s a struggle even with Roadhog body blocking for them, but eventually the doors close, and Angela breathes a sigh of relief as the train begins to move. Thank goodness they were all able to fit in together!

“You, er, alright there?” Junkrat asks her, quietly.

Oh. They’re hemmed in by the doorway, Junkrat leaning back against the glass partition and Angela standing in front of him, holding onto the pole by his side. There’s just enough space between them to be comfortable, and Roadhog is acting as a barricade between them and the rest of the passengers, but if more people get on at the next station Angela is alarmed to see that there’s only way she’ll be able to move. At the same time, though… it is quite nice to be close to him like this.

“I’m – yes, I am,” she says, looking up at him. “Are you? You seemed a little off, just now.”

“What? Nah, I’m- I’m fine!” Junkrat chuckles, an unconvincingly nervous sound. “Never better!”

She frowns at him. Junkrat bares his teeth in what he must assume to be a confident smile. Knowing she won’t get a proper answer from him, Angela sighs. At least he doesn’t look as tired today.

“Well, I was very impressed, you know,” she says, changing the subject.

“Y’were?” Junkrat blinks. “Uh, what with?”

Angela’s eyes flick down to Junkrat’s hoodie. It’s bright orange with yellow accents, an eyesore on this train so full of black and navy business suits. He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and she smiles at how soft it looks and how strange it is for him to wear something like this, so used to seeing him shirtless. Junkrat must like being warm.

“With your apology. To those two, back in headquarters,” Angela says. She’s looking at one of the patches he’s sewn over the shoulder. At least, she assumes he’s sewn it, as it’s one of his scary smiley faces and the thread is slightly wonky, like it was done on a whim.

“Oh,” Junkrat says. He’s blushing when she looks back up at him, but he’s staring out of the window, watching the city pass them by. “Well. Y’know. Anything to keep the peace, I s’pose.”

Angela scoffs. “You? Keeping the peace?”

“Yeah? What about it?” he asks, squinting down at her. He’s grinning, though.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” she says, airily.

The train sways. Junkrat straightens up like he’s ready to catch her, but Angela’s grip on the pole couldn’t be any tighter, using all of her core strength not to fall into him. The train is pulling into the next station now, coming to a stop. Angela glances out to see a swarm of tired looking salarymen about to pour inside.

“I think we’re about to get squashed,” she says, smiling nervously.

The doors open, and in come the barrage of people. Angela braces herself to be crushed – and she is, instantly, though not in the way she’s expecting. Junkrat curves his human arm around her waist and tugs her against him, cheek flattened to his chest, head tucked neatly under his chin. Even now, swamped in the hoodie, she can smell that diesel scent from before and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Oh no _._

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dipping down so that his voice is by her ear. “Just hold on a sec and I’ll letcha go when we move again.”

Angela’s entire body shivers. She didn’t think it was possible to be this happy about being squashed in a rush hour train.

“That – that’s okay,” she says, quietly, breathlessly. She takes her hand off the pole to hold onto him instead – to wrap her arms around his waist, keep them pressed close. Junkrat squeezes her like it’s his way of saying that he wants to stay like this, too, and she’s so close she can hear his heartbeat, a fast paced pulsing that seems on par with her own.

Angela peeks up at his face. She’s too short, too squished against his chest to see his expression, but she can tell that he’s blushing, glaring at the men pushing their way inside and occasionally knocking into her. Junkrat holds her tighter still, and he’s so strong, his body feels so solid and sturdy against hers that Angela grips the soft fabric of his hoodie, closing her eyes and drinking in how incredible this feels.

They stay like this for the next four stops. Bliss is probably a fitting term, but even that doesn’t seem strong enough for the emotion flooding into her. Somewhere between the third and the fourth stop some of the commuters start jostling one another, rearranging themselves ready to get off, and Angela feels the press of something soft against her hair.

“I’ve gotcha,” Junkrat murmurs, his breath warm in the same spot, and Angela’s heart clenches so painfully she has to grip at his hoodie again.

Did… did he really just… _kiss_ her?

The doors open up, and half of the train seems to evacuate. Angela is breathless, not wanting to let go of him at all, not ever, but the others might see now that there’s space in the carriage so she has to. Her face is hot, so hot she wouldn’t be surprised if all her makeup has melted when she dares to meet his eyes, but when Junkrat just grins shyly back at her it feels like her heart might melt as well.

Angela stands close to him when the train moves again, unsure of what to say. Even Junkrat’s gone quiet, both of them looking elsewhere even though they’re right in front of one another. She was really looking forward to this evening not just to spend more time with him, but to have fun with all the others too. Now, all Angela wants is to stay here and let every other passenger and all the other agents leave until it’s just the two of them alone together, right here on this train. She thinks she could travel forever if it meant staying close to him like this.

Her heartbeat is a powerful thrum in her chest. If there was any doubt in Angela’s mind from the texts, there certainly isn’t any now. It’s impractical tonight, but this time next week, Angela tells herself. This time next week she’s going to go on that date with Junkrat, even if it’s the last damn thing she does.

“This is our stop,” she says, tapping on Roadhog’s back when they arrive. He turns slowly and the other three appear beside him, chatting obliviously. Angela is grateful for their distraction, for Roadhog having his back to them all this time. She’s too shy to look at Junkrat again when the train doors open, but she can’t stop smiling as she steps off – isn’t sure she’ll ever stop smiling again, after that.

She guides them through her neighbourhood, giddy from what’s undoubtedly been the greatest train journey of her life, and then they’re here, they’re all here at her house. Angela unlocks and leads everyone through to the foyer, and the boys seem pleasantly surprised to see that there are slippers lined up for them already.

“Genji would be very proud,” Jesse tells her, smirking. Angela hums.

“Well, when in Rome, as the old saying goes. Shoes off please!”

He chuckles, doing as he’s told, and heads through into the sitting room with the others. Angela feels an instant need to offer tea now that they’re inside, but she hangs back, anxious as she watches Junkrat struggling. He’s braced himself with his human hand against the wall and is using the other to try and pull his single shoe off.

“Need a hand?” she asks, reaching out to him when he wobbles.

“Oh, very funny!” Junkrat says. He’s laughing though, manages to pull it off without assistance before straightening up. “Phew. Think I need a leg more to be honest.”

Angela sighs around a smile, fonder of him in this moment than she thinks she ever has been before.

“The offer is still open,” she says, sing-song as Junkrat steps into the one slipper she’s laid out for him. He comes up to her, so close it takes Angela back a bit, even though she’s just spent most of the journey here in his arms.

“Oh yeah? What offer’s that then?” he asks. Junkrat is grinning at her, in her face as though she’s about to pull out a handwipe and scrub him clean – or maybe like he’s going to tug her body against his again, a far more exhilarating thought.

“The offer of a new leg, of course,” Angela says, looking him over. Suddenly it’s a struggle to speak. “What did you think I meant?”

Junkrat laughs. It’s a deeper sound than usual, something that thrills Angela to the core, and he looks down at the space between them, still grinning as he bites his lip.

“Shit, Angie,” he mumbles. “Dunno if I can tell ya when there are kids about.”

Oh. Oh _god._

“This house is insane!” Hana announces, rushing out into the foyer. “Doc, how’d you score somewhere like this?!”

Angela smiles around at her. At least, she hopes she smiles, because it sort of feels like her body has gone numb.

“It’s – I bought it at a good time,” she answers, the words not sounding real even when they’re out of her mouth. Junkrat moves past her, whistling as he goes to join the others like he hasn’t just set her face on fire. Forget next week, Angela thinks, heart pounding as she follows Hana back in. How on earth is she going to get through this evening with him when they’re flirting this much already?

Thankfully, being a host keeps her so thoroughly occupied that she doesn’t have time to succumb to her excitement. Everyone is happy sitting in the lounge, chatting about the debriefing and the busy week they’ve all had while spread across the floor and the couch. Angela pours out tea and coffee for them, dashes up and down the stairs with Lúcio, who’s kind enough to help her with everyone’s suitcases, and double checks the clean towels she has available in case anyone would like to bathe later on. The sleeping arrangements they discuss mean that Hana is sharing Angela’s bedroom, Jesse is on the fold out couch downstairs, and Lúcio and the Junkers are spread across the single bed and futons in the spare bedroom. With this settled, and everyone suitably loosened from a comfortable respite in Angela’s home, she herds everyone back out of the house so they can get back on a train and into Tokyo for dinner.

There’s no opportunity to squash herself in with Junkrat now that rush hour has passed, but Angela is delighted simply to be surrounded by her friends on their last night here. The afternoon has turned into evening, bringing with it a cold breeze and the illuminations of the city at night, and they’re heading back to Uchi for their final meal, Hana animatedly telling Lúcio and the Junkers about how amazing their ramen is. Angela sits opposite all of them with Jesse, grinning to herself.

It seems crazy to think that a couple of months ago she would’ve been watching Lúcio, looking out for his reaction to Hana’s enthusiasm. Instead, her eyes are on Junkrat, the huge smile on his face as he listens to Hana and how impossibly handsome he is even in that damn hoodie - no, because of it, especially now that she knows just how soft and warm it is. She actually wishes she could text Lena about it, wanting to share what she’s feeling for him and how blown away she is by everything he’s done for her. There’s a threat of sadness when she realises that Lena’s reaction probably wouldn’t be as happy as Angela would like, but Junkrat glances across at her, catching her before any sadness can settle. When he smiles, she’s convinced he knows exactly what she’s thinking – knows that she’s thinking about him – and in this moment, gazing at one another from across the carriage, Angela doesn’t think having a crush has ever felt so good, even if she doesn’t have anyone else to share it with.

The air around the team is buzzing as they walk down to Uchi, a mix of nationalities chattering loudly through the streets of Toshima, and the chefs recognise them when they arrive, crowing out a greeting as they file inside. Angela isn’t particularly hungry, too high on adrenaline to have much of an appetite, but she’s happy to be sitting along this bar again with Jesse on one side of her and Junkrat on the other. It’s exhilarating just sitting next to him, the occasional brush of his human arm against hers from how close they are.

“Don’t feel right bein’ here without those two,” Jesse muses, tracing his metal finger around the rim of his glass. They’ve been here for a while now, bowls empty and Junkrat deep in conversation with Hana about making her a new MEKA. Angela furrows her brows at him.

“I thought you were quiet,” she says.

“Just tired I guess,” Jesse sighs. Angela’s frown grows more pronounced, and she reaches out to put her hand gently over his arm. He’s been more quiet than usual this evening, though Angela can’t see tiredness being the sole cause. It isn’t like Jesse to look so morose.  

“I’m sure they would’ve come along were it not for the week they’ve had,” she says.

“I know, I know.”

“You’re right, though, it isn’t the same without them here.”

It isn’t, but Angela has been so wrapped up in everything else that she hasn’t been particularly put out by their absence, sadly. She feels guilty for it, too, but not guilty enough to stop herself from enjoying all the times Junkrat’s bumped his arm against hers tonight, the way he’s leaned in a little closer than necessary whenever he’s gone to tell her something. 

“Aren’t you looking forward to going back to London?” Angela asks.

Jesse takes the toothpick he’s been chewing out of his mouth. He sets it down and smiles at her, but there’s something sad about it that doesn’t have Angela convinced.

“Sure I am,” he says. “Gotta say I’m a bigger fan of the Far East than I thought I would be, though.”

Angela tries to hold his eyes, but Jesse looks away from her again, back to toying with his glass. 

“Shame we don’t do this back in London,” he adds. Angela pats his arm, sighing.

“I’ve become quite a fan of it myself. Perhaps we should pitch it to Winston when we’re back.”

Jesse scoffs. “I’m sure that’ll go down well with upper management.”

“Well, perhaps Winston may also decide that they don’t necessarily need to know about it,” Angela says, slyly. Jesse’s eyebrows lift up at her in surprise and his smile is bigger now, genuine.

“Woah now, look at you, Miss Rulebreaker.” 

Angela takes a surreptitious sip of water. Hah. That’ll be the day!

“GUYS!” Hana says suddenly, making the two of them snap to attention. “We need. To do karaoke. _Right now_.”

“You’re telling me you guys have been here all. This. Time. And you haven’t done ANY karaoke?!” Lúcio says, leaning over with his hands on the table. He’s on the other side of the bar with Roadhog, gaping at them incredulously.

“Sadly,” Angela tells him. Even Roadhog is shaking his head as though they’ve committed some terrible crime in not going. “Would you like to?”

“I ain’t _nearly_ drunk enough to get started on any of that,” Jesse laughs, shaking his head, but Hana has already stood up to tug insistently on the back of his leather jacket.

“Then we’ll hit up a combini, get some drinks, and go! Come _on_ , Jesse, we _have_ to! It’ll be so much fun!”

He grunts, looking down at his glass. Angela leans over a little, just enough to catch his eye and offer him a hopeful smile. Jesse groans, pushing himself away from the bar.

“On the condition that we grab some beers, fine.”

They head off to the nearest convenience store, Hana leading the way with her arm hooked around Jesse’s. Lúcio has a backpack with him, so once they’ve loaded up from the alcohol chiller and confectionary aisle they hide their supplies away. Hana marches them into the nearest karaoke shop, speaking fluently to rent them a booth for the evening. The elevators here are even smaller than the ones in HQ, meaning it takes three trips to get them all up to the tenth floor. Angela hangs back, allowing the others to go on ahead in the hopes that Junkrat might hang back with her. He does, of course, until it’s just the two of them going up in one, Roadhog having gone with Lúcio instead.

Angela steps in and selects the tenth floor. She stands beside him when the door closes, hot and shivery now that they’re sharing this space alone. She doesn't remember feeling this strongly from any of her crushes in college, so physically affected just from being near someone. It’s wonderful, though, especially knowing that Junkrat wanted this too.

“Wonder what your singing voice is like,” he hums, bumping his human arm against her. Angela chuckles, bumps him back.

“Terrible, as you could probably guess.”

“Pfft. Bet it’s not.”

 “You’ll find out soon enough,” she says, trying to repress her delight.

Junkrat slings his arm around her shoulder and brings her into a sudden embrace. She goes easily, amazed at how casually he’s done this, how it’s just- nothing for him to pull her against him now, apparently. Angela allows herself to clutch briefly at the front of his hoodie from where she’s pulled in close, but then there’s that warmth again, on top of her head.

“Bet it’s as beautiful as the rest of ya,” Junkrat murmurs. Angela can hear the grin in it and a giggle escapes before she can stop it, so impossibly happy she could burst. He lets go of her when the elevator stops and she gives him a gentle, playful push.

“You tease,” she says, and he laughs, blushing as the door opens up. Angela steps out before him and heads over to join the others down the corridor, pulse racing while she bites back the enormous grin plastered all over her face. Junkrat is simply smug when she does look around at him, probably impressed with himself for being so charming. Good, she thinks, he should be impressed. If only she could be so bold!

Hana has booked a modest two hour slot in one of the larger rooms, meaning all of them can fit comfortably in the booth. Angela hasn’t done this for years and Jesse is still feigning nonchalance, so she leaves Hana, Lúcio and Junkrat to fight over who gets the first song, Roadhog sitting with his arms folded like he’s content to wait patiently for his turn. Junkrat is at the other end of the booth with Lúcio and Hana, a slight disappointment when she’s been lucky enough to be near him so much today, but Angela knows she shouldn’t be so greedy when she’s here to have a good time with everyone else as well.

And she does. She has a brilliant time, in fact, pouring drinks in plastic cups for everyone while they cycle through a plethora of songs. Jesse loosens up considerably after a couple of drinks, eventually complaining that it’s his turn, c’mon guys, it’s time for some _real_ music now, and Hana laughs, cringing as he puts on some old crooner’s song. They fall about laughing at his smooth baritone, though it’s actually very good, and Roadhog nods along to the music, seemingly content to just chill with the group.

Two hours pass far too quickly, so Hana buys two more. She goes through more k-pop than Angela thinks she’s ever heard in her life, and even though she doesn’t really know any of the songs Lúcio picks, they’re wonderfully upbeat. Roadhog has a few with Junkrat, who sings with unsurprising enthusiasm even if it isn’t always pitch perfect, and Angela loves it, loves his passion and total lack of inhibition. It feels like they’re all letting their hair down, though. She can’t recall any nights out being this much fun back in London.

Roadhog offers the microphone to Angela, and suddenly everyone is insisting she has a sing, too.

“I thought I had already!” she says.

“Not yet. I’m sure you got the voice of an angel, doc,” Jesse says, making everyone else groan. He isn’t entirely sober so it comes out slightly slurred, and Angela chuckles, immediately shakes her head.

“C’mon, I’m sure there’s something you wanna sing!” Lúcio says, and Hana nods wildly beside him, flushed from a combination of high-octane singing and booze.

“Lemme see,” Junkrat says, frowning in concentration as he scrolls through a list of songs. He selects a duet from an old musical, something famous enough to have endured decades and decades of popularity. Angela prickles from an equal mixture of hope and dread at the idea of being asked to actually sing this one, unsure if she’d be more embarrassed or delighted to sing something so romantic with him.

Roadhog offers her the mic again, but Angela hesitates, feeling the heat on her face from everyone looking at her so hopefully. God, she really isn’t any good at singing, and it feels so obvious that he’s chosen something like this for them. She’s thrilled, of course, but--

“Go on, doc, give us a song!” Junkrat says, grinning encouragingly across at her.

Doc? It’s…. well, it’s probably what the others would expect him to say. Have they even heard him call her Angie before?

Wait. Is… is he trying to be covert about this?

“Oh, go on then,” she laughs, finally. Junkrat cheers – they all do actually - and Angela covers her face, cringing from how much attention she’s inadvertently drawn to herself.

She sings with him, though, laughing helplessly at Junkrat’s gusto through the song and at the whooping and clapping that follows when they’re finished. Angela doesn’t think she’s ever been so embarrassed in her life, but she’s ecstatic that she’s been able to sing something with him after all, that they’ve all been kind even though she knows she isn’t any good. Angela feels sad when she hands back the mic, not because she wants to sing again but because she can’t believe they didn’t do this before. The dread of potential humiliation just melts away when everyone is so encouraging, just wanting to have a good time together. Angela sings a few more songs afterwards, spurred on by the sugar from their snacks and copious amounts of liquid courage. Karaoke is far more fun than she remembered the last time she tried it.

Junkrat surprises everyone when he reveals a hipflask just as they’re finishing off the last cans of chūhai, and it’s filled with something so potent Angela is too afraid to ask what it is. She’s able to dilute it a little with soda, at least, but as he passes it around it seems to hit everyone like a truck, and soon they’re all howling, falling about themselves as the song choices become increasingly outrageous and their sobriety comes to an end.

By the time their session is over the table is littered with empty cans and plastic cups, and Angela is vaguely alarmed to check her phone and see that it’s already 2am. In the back of her mind is the notion of needing to be up early in the morning for their flight, but it’s drowned out when they’re leaving because Hana is literally crying with laughter about something as she stumbles into the elevator, and Lúcio swoops in to catch her while laughing as well. Angela is tugged into the elevator with them before she has time to look around for Junkrat, but she wants to be with him more than ever right now, craving more physicality as it’s been so many hours since she sat with him.

Angela is drunk enough to recognise that it’s a miracle when they reach the train station unscathed, but she isn’t in quite the same state as Lúcio and Hana, screeching as they collapse into a three seat row once they’re all inside the carriage. She’s also aware that they’re being far louder than they really should, but it’s so late that there aren’t many other passengers on the train aside from similarly inebriated salarymen. Jesse goes and sits with them, quieter but probably just as drunk judging by the redness of his face and the way he slurs his request to join them.

“Better go look after the kids,” Roadhog grunts, shaking his head as he goes to sit opposite them. Junkrat snickers, and Angela finds herself sitting next to him again, just the two of them this time on a row of seats further away from the others.

“Hello,” she says, grinning when he looks at her. The train pulls away and she allows her body to shift with it, until her arm is pressed heavily against his. Junkrat laughs, a loud, hearty sound, and he slings his arm around her shoulders again, his metal one this time. It's a heavy, comforting weight, and he smells wonderful, sweet from the canned cocktails but still with that dirty diesel scent on his skin.

“Bloody hell, Angie, never thought I’d see ya half cut like this!” he says. “You gonna be alright?”

“You’re not exactly the picture of sobriety yourself,” she says, cheek flat against his shoulder and smiling. Why does drinking make it so easy to be physical like this? Angela wishes she could do this all the time, that she had the courage to grab Junkrat and cuddle him whenever she damn well pleased.

“S’pose I can give ya that,” he sighs. He’s keeping his arm around her, though. Angela’s arm moves before she can stop it, until her hand is over the pocket on the front of his hoodie. If she can use the excuse of being terribly drunk then maybe the others won’t question it if they notice. Angela isn’t sure she would care right now even if they did, though. Hopefully she won’t be too embarrassed about all of this in the morning.

“Hey,” she says, lifting her head up to frown at him. Junkrat pulls back just enough to look at her questioningly but his arm is still over her shoulders.

“What?”

“You- why did you call me doc?”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Back in – back in there. Why?”

Junkrat scowls, glancing down to the floor like he’s thinking. His eyes widen a bit.

“Oh, right, I did. Yeah. Uh… well, I dunno,” he laughs, nervously. “It’s probably stupid.”

Angela pulls away so she can sit up and face him properly.

“No, come on, tell me.”

Junkrat scratches his cheek. He’s still not looking at her but he’s grinning to himself, like he did that time in her car. Did that really happen? It was so long ago Angela is afraid she might’ve imagined it. It feels like she’s living in a dream even now, sitting here with her fingers gripped in the soft fabric of his hoodie. It’s frightening that his stomach is beneath her hand, that she can imagine how smooth and warm his skin would feel on hers.

“Dunno, I just, uh. Sorta like having me own name for ya,” Junkrat says, going red. He’s looking at her again, gazing now. “Don’t really want the others hearing it.”

Angela’s heart is doing that thing, that – that thing where it squeezes so hard it hurts. Junkrat is smirking like he's saying something he knows she’ll like, but Angela frowns, suddenly realising something.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she says. Junkrat frowns back.

“Not fair?”

“No.” She glances over him – his dirty face, wild hair, the splashes of oil on his hoodie from the ramen. If only she could pull it off him and shove it in the washing machine. “It’s not fair at all. Not when I don’t have a name for you.”

“Oh,” Junkrat says, surprised. “Right. No, I s’pose that ain’t really fair, is it?”

Angela hmms. “How about James?”

Junkrat recoils, poking his tongue out. “Eugh, no bloody way! Brings back memories of too many detentions!"

“Oh dear, that's no good. And I’m guessing Jamison is still out of the question,” she says. Junkrat shakes his head.

“Nah, too long.”

He straightens up too, mirroring her, and looks at her like he’s still thinking about it. After a second, Junkrat leans in towards her, pulls gently around her shoulders so she has to meet him half way. She thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he misses her mouth and goes for her ear instead, close enough for his breath to tickle. Angela shivers.

“Why don’tcha call me Jamie?” he whispers.

It feels like he’s just shared a precious secret. She gapes when he pulls back, something shy and soft about the way he smiles at her. Angela nods, needing to agree to this immediately even though she’s suddenly incapable of vocalising any actual words.

“Fair?” he asks, looking hopeful.

“Fair,” she says, nodding again, locking it down. She notices Junkrat – no, Jamie, he’s Jamie now - glance over her shoulder to the others. Then he’s pulling her into another cuddle, and Angela flops into him, grateful that he didn’t kiss her. She wouldn’t want such an intimate moment to happen in front of everybody else, regardless of whether or not they’re looking.

It’s strange to think of him as Jamie, a soft name when he’s been Junkrat for all the time she’s known him. But it suits him, she thinks, moving her hand up so that it’s over his chest while her head is still resting on his shoulder. Jamie. Maybe it won’t take as long to get used to as she thinks.

“Y’know what,” he mumbles, the deepness of his voice reverberating through Angela’s chest. She goes to look up at him but he’s got his head rested on hers so she can’t see his expression.

“What?”

“Wish I’d bloody told you back then.”

“Told me what? When?”

“When y’said you were single n’all that, back at your place.” Jamie sighs. “Chickened out, didn’t I.”

Angela grips his hoodie. Somehow, in the midst of all their texts, all these moments they’ve shared in what little time they’ve had, she’d totally forgotten about that.

“What did you want to say?” Angela asks quietly, her eyes wide now, staring at his neck. There are some dark freckles dotted over it. She’s too scared to look into his eyes anyway, overwhelmed just from this.

“I’ll tell ya later,” Jamie says. “When we’re back home. At yours.”

Angela scoffs. Her heart is thudding. She can feel his thudding too.

“What if you forget?” she asks. Worse still, what if I do, again?

“I won’t,” he says, squeezing her. “Don’t worry.”

Angela swallows, fragile in his arms. It feels like they’ve said so much without saying anything at all, and she doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. They need to get home - wishes they were there right now - but there’s ages left, too many stops between them. God, there’s been nothing but stops between them this entire time.

She’s comfortable enough to doze on him as the train carries them through the city. Angela just about manages to rouse herself in time for them to make their stop, but it’s an effort to extract herself from the warmth of Jamie’s body. She gets up, though, stumbling over to the door with him close behind, and the others get up to join her, Lúcio now supporting an incredibly drunk Hana. She feels a little nauseous from the bright lights of the carriage and from standing after being cuddled up for so long, but their proximity to home makes Angela straighten up and take a few deep breaths, and it’s enough to get her off the train and start leading them all through the neighbourhood.

Hana squeals loudly when Lúcio offers her a piggyback ride. Angela tries to shush her, deathly afraid of gaining a bad reputation even in her own drunken state, but her brain is feeling swampy and it’s difficult while trying to maintain a straight line. Jesse and Jamie are either side of her, at least, and when she glances around to check on Roadhog he’s rounding them off at the back, a bouncer on their journey home through one of the safest neighbourhoods in Tokyo.

They arrive home in what feels like no time at all. Everything’s getting fuzzy, though, hours of drinking and flirting taking their toll. She’s also exhausted from the emotion of it all, and even though she’s trying desperately to stay awake it’s getting difficult to focus, harder to hold herself up. Angela’s body moves on autopilot to the kitchen because even though all she wants right now is to be with Jamie and ask what he was going to say, the instinctive duty to take care of everyone has her pouring out water instead.

“I’ll take care of it,” comes Roadhog’s voice. Angela turns and finds him standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder a large and gentle weight. He must be the most sober one of them all. He’s certainly more sober than she is.

“But- I need to,” Angela starts, struggling to form the words. Shit, she’s had too much. “Need to… make sure they’re…”

“I said I’ll take care of it,” Roadhog grunts. “Rat wants you, you’d better go see him.”

Rat? Who – oh, gosh, he’s talking about Jamie. Angela’s eyes widen.

“He- wants me?”

“Yes. Go.”

Angela totters from the kitchen, slow and slurred as she looks around the house for him. She spots Jamie out by the foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Angela’s having trouble focusing on him but she can feel that he’s twitchy, that there’s a tension about him that wasn’t there before. When he notices her he seems to scowl, pushing away from the wall to hold her shoulders.

“Shit, you alright?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“Yes, amazing, wonderful,” she breathes. “You- Roadhog said you wanted me.”

“That bloody bastard,” he mumbles, embarrassed. Angela reaches out, tugging on the front of his hoodie with both hands. She’s smiling widely, wobbling where she stands.

“Did you? I mean, do you want me? I’m here.”

Jamie drags his metal hand over his mouth. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re pissed. C’mon, lemme getcha upstairs.”

“What? No, I’m not angry,” Angela laughs, but Jamie hooks her arm over his shoulder. In the time it takes for her to blink she’s in her bedroom.

“Easy,” he says, gently guiding her onto the bed. Angela falls back, laughing as she goes. Everything’s blurry. Why does he seem upset?

“I’m here.”  She reaches out to him, needing to comfort, wanting him close. “Stay? He said he’s taking care of it. Roadhog. He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

Jamie laughs. He sits on the edge of the bed and shakes his head. She can hear the others downstairs - Hana and Lúcio talking loudly, a deep laugh coming from Jesse. Why does it feel like they’re running out of time? They have the rest of the evening, don’t they?

“Can’t believe you’re still flirting with him even now. Can’t win, can I?” Jamie sighs. He doesn’t sound annoyed, though. 

“M’not,” Angela mumbles, willing herself to wake up. It's difficult to keep her eyes open now she's on the bed. “You know m’not.”

“I know, I’m only messin’ with ya.”

Jamie leans over her, brushing her hair out of her eyes. The metal of his fingers is cool across her forehead, and Angela’s able to properly focus on him for a second, enough to see that he’s concerned, nervous. She doesn’t like him like this, looking so worried.

“You’ll – stay here, won’t you?” she asks.

“’Course I will, can’t leave ya like this,” he says, softly. “Bloody drunkard.”

“M’not.” Angela reaches for him again. The words are coming out before she can stop them. “Lay with me?”

“Christ, Angie,” he murmurs. He’s scratching his neck, something Junkrat would do even though he isn’t Junkrat anymore.

“Please.” She reaches once more, enough to tug on his sleeve. “Jamie.”

“Agh. Alright, alright. Just- stay on your side, yeah?”

She rolls until she is. Angela wants to feel excited when Jamie clambers onto the bed with her, when he moves until he’s flopped beside her, in front of her, keeping space between them. But Angela can’t keep her eyes open long enough to look at him properly.

She thinks if she could just close them for a second it might revive her, but the next time she opens them the room is dark and everything is quiet. There’s light filtering in through the blinds, enough for her to see where she is while her eyes adjust, and there’s a weight over her waist, a nice feeling, something safe.

Angela is fully clothed on her bed. Her head is hurting and her throat feels awfully dry, but she’s warm, really warm, close to another clothed body. Her breath leaves her when she blinks out the sleep enough to see that Jamie – oh, god, _Jamie_ – is still lying with her. She remembers asking him to stay but the fact that he did, that he’s here on her bed sleeping right in front of her, gives her goosepimples all over.

His human arm is slung over her waist, bridging the space he’s left between them. There’s another hand on her too, smaller and lighter. She peers behind and over her shoulder to see that it belongs to Hana, and behind her is Lúcio, both of them totally flaked out on her bed.

Trust Angela to be the first one to wake up even after an incredibly late night. She assumes it was, anyway. Doesn’t matter though – she’s happy to be awake if it means she gets to enjoy this, a private moment with Jamie even though there’re two others in her bed.

They’re not close enough, Angela decides, shuffling forwards to close the gap. Jamie is crashed out, not quite snoring but breathing heavily with parted lips and half of his face enveloped by the pillow. He makes a soft noise when she wraps her arm around his back and shifts, squeezing her, curling his body as though he needs to protect her even in his sleep. Angela melts at it, at him, hoping desperately that she didn’t dream everything that happened yesterday, all the wonderful things he said.

What time is it? Angela wonders if the sun has fully risen yet. She pushes herself up so she can look over Jamie’s broad shoulder and get a glimpse of her digital clock.

It’s 8:22am. Their flight is at 10.

Oh, _shit_.

“Flight! The flight!” she says, scrambling to get up. Jamie grimaces when she gives his shoulder a gentle shake, but she can’t devote herself to him – needs to wake the others up as well. Angela looks over her bed to see Roadhog and Jesse are in here as well, sprawled across three futons they appear to have dragged over the floor, and she claps loudly, insistently, calling at all of them to wake up.

It’s a scramble to get themselves ready. Angela calls for a hovercab and within fifteen minutes all six of them are out of the door, groggy and hungover but on their way to the airport. Overwatch has paid for business class tickets, so if any one of them miss this flight they’ll not only have to purchase their own tickets but reimburse the company for its losses, too. Panicking, Angela chews on her nails trying to calculate the cost of six business class tickets. If she doesn’t have enough in her savings to foot the bill it’ll only mean taking the money out of her inheritance fund, but god, she can’t believe she’s allowed this to happen, feels so stupid for not keeping a better track of the time.

“Chill out, wouldja?” Jesse grumbles, reaching over from the back seat to pat her shoulder. “You’re stressin’ me out, doc. Relax. We’ll get there.”

Angela is shotgun with the driver. She glances around at everyone and has to admit that even in the midst of her panicking, it’s a little amusing to see four exhausted faces stare back at her. Roadhog is right at the back with his mask on and arms folded, stoic as usual, unbothered by the rush. Angela smiles.

“I know,” she says, alarmed at how croaky she sounds now. “I just hope we get there on time.”

The hovercab gets them to the airport quickly, and after some profuse apologies the lady covering the check-in desk collects their luggage. Angela whisks everyone through security and finally, with about twenty minutes to spare, they’re boarding the plane. She collapses into the booth when they’re inside, more grateful for the comfort of business class than ever, and Jesse leans over her seat, grinning down at her.

“See?” he says. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

Angela laughs, an unpleasantly hoarse sound. He walks ahead to his own seat, and with the hurricane of the morning over, she lays back and closes her eyes. It’s difficult to unwind after being so stressed, but they’ve got a twelve hour flight ahead of them and at least she doesn’t have to worry about reimbursing any tickets. Too exhausted to think, Angela curls onto her side and pulls on the complimentary eyemask, willing her body to relax enough to let her get some more sleep.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. Angela feels like she’s slept through the entire flight, but they’re only halfway in when she checks the time. The cabin is dark, lights dimmed to encourage sleep, and she has to turn the brightness down on her phone, dazzled by it.

_You awake?_

It’s Jamie. Junkrat, according to her phone, and he’d texted her about an hour ago. Angela smiles and sits up while she changes the name in her address book, and she peers out of her booth, wondering where he’s sitting. She was too flustered to look out for him earlier but the business class seats mean that everyone has a private booth, so she can’t see him. He might be sleeping, anyway.

 _I am now,_ she writes. _Feel like death. Are you?_

Jamie replies instantly.

_Yeah I’m awake. Bloody worried me last night yknow :P never thought I’d see you off your face like that lol_

Well, there’s the embarrassment. It doesn’t hit quite as hard as Angela was expecting, mostly because she’s still waking up, starting to remember all the cuddling the led up to it.

_Sorry. Got a bit carried away. Was having too much fun. :)_

_Too much? Nah no such thing as too much fun haha_

_Not with you, anyway,_ she replies, too tired to hesitate.

Jamie goes to write something and then stops. It feels strange to be texting him like this when she could just as easily get up and find him to talk in person. She feels braver this way, though. The others won’t hear them either.

 _Careful, might start blushing :P_  Jamie replies. This feels conservative for him, and it makes Angela grin.

_Consider it payback for all the times you’ve made me blush._

_Ooohhhhh lol then maybe I should make you blush more often ;)_

Angela purses her lips together. This could go one of two ways. Both would be absolutely fine with her, in truth, but even in her hungover and rather uninhibited state she isn’t quite ready to take this too far.

 _If that’s a challenge, perhaps I should ask if you’d like to go out next week,_ she sends. It’s amazing that she still has the energy to buzz from this, but adrenaline doesn’t seem to care for her hangover, nor for her lack of sleep. Jamie writes back immediately.

_Surprised you’re even thinking about drinking after last night :P_

_Oh, I absolutely am, if it means going on a date with you. How about Tuesday?_

Friday was tempting but too far away, and she’ll need some time to recover from the jetlag. Not too much, though. Angela holds onto this text for just a moment before sending. She stares at the screen, willing him to reply instantly. He does.

_Holy shit_

Angela stifles a laugh. Jamie starts writing again and a flurry of messages appear.

 _Never thought I’d hear you say that!!!_  
_Uh but yes Tuesday is fine_  
_Great I mean!!!_  
_FANTASTIC!!!!!!_

She does laugh at this.

_Only two months late, but better late than never. :)_

_Too fucking right!!!!! :D_

Angela puts her phone down. She needs a drink, something to do that isn’t grinning at her phone like an idiot. She grabs the complimentary bottle of water to hydrate her throat, hand shaking when she replaces the cap. There’s still another six hours to go until they’re back in the UK, but it’s fine, Angela doesn’t care. Not now it’s solidified, there in writing for both of them to see. She never thought they’d actually get to this point. In a way she supposes that they didn’t, really, because she isn’t going on a date with Junkrat after all.

She’s going on a date with Jamie, instead, and Angela couldn’t be happier.

The team say their goodbyes and separate when they finally touch back down in London. The shifting timezones mean they arrive on Saturday morning local time and have the entire weekend to recover. Angela is thrilled to be on her regular train to London on Monday morning despite her terrible jetlag. She was exhausted enough to sleep, at least, but it feels like her heart has been racing ever since she gave Jamie a goodbye hug outside the airport.  She’s been counting down the hours until Tuesday evening – they’re meeting at seven, as before – and while she knows getting through the next two working days are going to be agony, she’s absolutely delighted by the prospect of being occupied with work.

Genji is the last person she’s expecting to see when she arrives in reception. There he is, though, standing in front of Jesse with his head in his hands and Jesse gripping his shoulders. Jesse is in his usual clothing but Genji is dishevelled, dressed in lounge pants and a shirt. What on earth is he doing here?

“What’s going on?” Angela asks, rushing up to him. He’s biting down hard on his lip, body convulsing where he’s trying to fight the tears streaming down his face.

“It’s Zenyatta,” Jesse tells her. He doesn’t look away from Genji, and before Angela can ask Winston and Lena are running over to them, too.

“Doc!” Lena says, grabbing her into a brief hug. She looks terrified. “Oh, thank god you’re in!”

Winston puts his hand on Angela’s shoulder, grimacing. Oh no. Please no.

“What’s happened?” she asks, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

“We’re not sure,” he tells her, gravely. “Zenyatta reported malaise last night and we got him on the first flight out, but his body started going into shutdown so the on-board doctors put him into an induced coma. He’s here now, we’ve not long since admitted him.”

“Right,” Angela says. “Okay. I’m going to need you to tell me _everything_ on my way up.”

Winston obliges her as they catch the elevator up to medical. She’s focused when they reach the ward, running through a mental checklist of the last examinations she conducted with Zen. Winston has given her some information to work with, but when she’s at Zenyatta’s bedside looking over his perfectly still body, Angela is lost for a cause. She thought she’d contained and eradicated the virus entirely. Why, _why_ has his shutdown been triggered like this?

There’s no time for jetlag. Angela has Zenyatta wheeled through into the nanotechnology department because she needs him wired up for monitoring while he’s in stasis, but the induced coma means she’s limited with what she can check. Monday flies past. Winston is kind enough to bring her lunch and something else for dinner, but it’s been over ten hours since she came into work and Angela is no closer to a solution to this, to knowing what in the hell is wrong with him. Winston tells her to leave at some point before midnight, but how can she when Zenyatta’s life is on the line? She should’ve stayed in Japan for longer, watched over him properly. Caught this sooner rather than risk his life just through wanting to get home quickly.

She wakes up on Tuesday morning having fallen asleep at her desk. Angela is horrendously groggy – thinks she got three, maybe four hours of sleep – and makes time to get herself a black coffee ready to begin wading through Zenyatta’s code once again. Her phone has been vibrating occasionally but checking it doesn’t cross her mind, too distracted with fixing this, fixing him. By lunchtime even Lena is on her case telling her to go home, take the afternoon off and start fresh on Wednesday seeing as Zenyatta is technically stable. Angela declines as politely as she can, because this is her responsibility, this is _her problem_ to fix, and she needs to work quickly in case whatever is afflicting Zenyatta gets worse.

The medical department is on the same floor as engineering, and there’s a shared research area that isn’t used much by Torbjörn’s team. Angela needs to get out of her office and it’s a more comfortable environment to work in anyway, printouts spread across one of the tables in here so she can stand and just look at all the numbers on something other than a screen. It’s clearer, easier to digest like this, and she thinks she might be getting close to figuring out what the problem is when the door opens. Angela almost doesn’t look, assuming it’s Winston bringing up some lunch.

“Hey. Angie. Angie!”

It’s Jamie. He’s standing in the doorway holding up a takeout box, smiling sadly at her. Angela goes to ask what he’s doing here until she remembers that this is where he’s based now, too, and she smiles, some of the tension loosening from seeing him. He’s in his work gear - a tank top and cargo shorts, greased up from whatever he’s been working on. Twitchy, she thinks, moreso than usual as he steps over.

“Sorry,” she says, back to looking at the papers. “I thought it was Winston, to be honest.”

Jamie sets the takeout box down beside her and leans against the table.

“Nah, he’s gone already,” he says. “Thought I’d bring ya some dinner.”

Angela blinks, glancing up at him.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. Just some – I think it’s chili or somethin’,” he says, scratching his neck. “Cafeteria was about to close so I just got whatever.”

Angela holds his eyes. “I thought it was lunchtime,” she says, heart sinking. Jamie laughs, shakes his head. He looks away from her.

“It’s, uh. Almost six, actually.”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, softly. She’d completely forgotten. “Jamie, I-”

“S’alright, not a big deal. I get it.”

Everything about him, from the way he’s standing to the way he says it, screams that he’s upset. Angela reaches out to touch his metal arm, and he meets her eyes, frowning.

“Haven’tcha been here all day and night already?” he asks, looking at her searchingly. “You’re gonna make y’self ill, keep staying here like this.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” she says, trying to smile at him. He doesn’t smile back. “There’s no point in going home when I’m more likely to sleep better here. Besides, it’s my responsibility to resolve this. I wouldn’t feel right leaving him.”

Jamie laughs. It’s a scathing sound, and he folds his arms, glaring over at the door.

“Ch’yeah, right. Your responsibility that the omnic’s causing more problems. Of _course._ ”

“What? The ‘omnic’ you’re talking about is Zenyatta,” she says, frowning at him now, something about his tone making her skin crawl. This doesn’t sound like him at all.

“Why d’you keep blaming yourself for this? None of it’s your fault but you’re always talkin’ like it is!” Jamie says, irritably.

“How is it not my fault?” she scoffs. “I’ve clearly missed something somewhere for this to happen. Should’ve stayed in Japan longer, kept a closer eye on him.”

“Oh yeah? And what, stayed out there for how long?” he asks, scowling. “Another month? Another year? Just – at his bloody beck and call?”

“If- if that’s what it takes, then yes, perhaps,” Angela says, busying herself with the papers. She’s beginning to feel sick, an acute nausea that worsens when Jamie laughs.

“Great, sure. Spend the rest of your fucking life out there why don’tcha,” he mutters, pushing away from the desk then, agitated. Angela glares at him, dread pooling in her belly. What’s happening to him? Why is he saying such horrible things?

“I understand that you’re upset, Jamie, but Zenyatta’s in a coma, for god’s sake!”

“So what if he’s in a coma?” he snaps, bitterly. He turns sharply, scowling at her, throwing his hands up. “Zenyatta or not, he’s an omnic, ain’t he? What does it matter if he is?”

Angela steps back, laughing out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she says. It’s like everything is crumbling before her eyes, infatuation burning to dust in the pit of her stomach.

“What? Can’t believe I’m- worried about you wasting your life over some fucking scrap metal?” he says, menacingly.

Angela flinches. “Don’t- Jamie, don’t call him that!”

“That’s what he is, he’s a fucking heap of metal! No flesh or blood, no fucking soul! You’re worrying about a goddamn shell!” he shouts, so angrily it’s frightening.

“What’s wrong with you!” she cries.

“I’m human, Angie, that’s what’s fucking wrong!” Jamie yells, throwing his arms out.

“I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now,” she says, trembling, tears pricking her eyes.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?!” Jamie asks, incredulously, like he isn’t the heartless stranger standing in front of her.

“Just – get out!” she tells him, shaking. “I don’t want to look at you anymore!”

Jamie’s face pulls into something so stricken she may as well have slapped him. Angela turns away from him, gripping the desk to steady herself. She’s scared she’s going to throw up, about to choke on the lump that’s stuck inside her throat.

“Right. Sure. Won’t fucking bother next time,” he snaps, and she can hear him move, the heavy clunking of his leg against the floor. The door slams moments later, a shockwave that cuts straight through Angela’s body. She pulls up a chair and slumps into it, covering her face in her hands and allowing a sob to heave out of her chest, pulled from the depths of her stomach.

She’s disgusted. So furious she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. But worse, worse than any of that, is the distinct feeling that she knows exactly who she was talking to. The feeling that in all this time she’s been blind to it, but it’s clear, now, overwhelmingly obvious. Jamie, Junkrat, the name doesn’t matter. That was him.

That man just now, standing in here shouting such awful, callous things at her, was _him._

_  
*_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!! Can't believe 2017 is over! I never thought I'd start a fic like this, let alone write so many words for it, and I cannot thank all of you enough for all your incredible comments and support. Special thanks as well to my beta reader one_irradiated_muppet as usual, who gave this enormous chapter some essential tweaks and is simply wonderful in every way <3 but really, thank you so much, guys. I love ALL OF YOU!!!!!
> 
> CHRISTMAS PARTY NEXT CHAPTER WOOOOOO!!!!!!!


	9. Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Roonie](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/169813926495/roonie-doodle-i-made-this-little-doodle-for) for this amazing fanart from the last chapter!!! GHJKHJGK

There’s a small window in the door, and Angela is apprehensive when she peers through it. She holds her breath, as she has done every other time she’s come to check on him, only to release it with a smile.

Zenyatta is sitting upright in his bed. The lights on his face are as bright and blue as they were when she visited him this morning, and even though there are a dozen different wires plugged into his hands they’re folded serenely in his lap. Genji is in a chair beside him, leaning over slightly and talking enthusiastically despite the bags under his eyes. Angela knocks twice before entering, not wanting to barge in unannounced. Both of them turn to face her, and her shoulders soften at the smile she gets from Genji. Up until yesterday her visits usually meant further cause for concern, but now he seems comforted by her presence, pleased to see her rather than afraid.

“How’s everyone doing?” she asks.

“Very well, thank you,” Zen says. Angela steps up to his bedside, needing to ensure that the wires are adequately connected to him. He reaches out easily when she goes to take his hands.

“Any further symptoms at all?” she asks, realigning a couple that’ve gone slightly loose.

“None whatsoever,” he tells her. This correlates with the steady stream of numbers Angela’s been watching on her tablet all day, and she sighs, a relieved and tired sound.

“Thank goodness.”

After six long days and six even longer nights, Angela’s hard work finally paid off in the early hours of yesterday morning. She was able to extract the mutated virus from Zenyatta’s code and bring him out of his induced coma, and she’s been very pleased to report to Winston that, so far, all signs point to this extraction being a resounding success. They’re not out of the woods just yet, but Zenyatta is conscious and well, and at the moment this is enough to maintain Angela’s sanity after a truly horrendous week.

“How long has he been out for?” she asks, nodding over to Jesse. He’s in the chair next to Genji, fast asleep with his arms folded and his mouth hanging open. Genji glances across at him and chuckles.

“Maybe… forty minutes? I’m not sure,” he says. “Oi.”

He shakes Jesse’s shoulder, who snorts out an alarmed sound but doesn’t wake up, just sort of jolts and shifts in his chair. Genji grins at him, and Angela is surprised to see that his hand lingers on Jesse’s shoulder a little longer than she was expecting.

“He’s okay,” Genji says, pulling away but still looking at him. “Heavy sleeper, I think.”

“I expect he needs the rest,” Angela says. Every time she’s seen Genji this week, pacing the corridors of the medical department or here in Zenyatta’s wardroom, Jesse has been with him. She hadn’t given it much thought - was simply happy to see that he was being taken care of—but she can’t remember them being this close while they were Japan.

“Are you alright?” Zenyatta asks her suddenly, bringing her out of thought.

Angela laughs. It’s a question she can’t provide an honest answer to right now.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be even better when I’ve found a solution to all of this, though.” She smiles at Zenyatta, something not entirely forced but not entirely natural either. “In the meantime, I’m just happy to see that you’re recovering.”

Angela conducts her usual tests and leaves once she’s satisfied with the results, though not before reminding Genji that he needs to get some decent rest as well. He’s probably slept even less than she has this past week.

The relief of Zenyatta’s continued recovery is potent, a burst of joy that spreads out of her chest and has her smiling on her way out of the ward. Unfortunately, it’s also a very brief feeling. The worst may be over but now her real work begins—decoding the virus, patching it, and preventing any other omnics from being infected by it again. She spent all of yesterday monitoring Zenyatta, so now that she’s checked in on him for the second time today her plan is to get right back to work.

Angela is exhausted. Knackered, according to Lena, who brought up her lunch earlier today. She’s emotionally drained from carrying the dead weight of Zenyatta’s coma around with her all week, and physically drained from so many sleepless nights with the shadow of jetlag hanging over her. But she’s grateful to have something else to throw herself into, distractions in the form of reports to write and research to conduct. Anything that might take her mind off the other dead weight that’s been sitting in her stomach.

Anything, anything at all, that isn’t thinking about him.

She stops when she comes to her office. After being shackled to her desk for the last six days, Angela isn’t sure that she can face spending any more time caged up in there. She nips inside to exchange her tablet for her laptop, and then she’s leaving the medical department for the first time all week, bypassing the elevators and heading straight through to engineering instead. Not only is it a much bigger space than her office, the shared research area is also far more comfortable, with a couple of couches in one corner to counteract all the desktop computers and office tables filling the rest of it. While it isn’t windowed, Angela needs to sit somewhere that isn’t clinical. She’s been too busy staring at a multitude of screens to look out of the windows in Zenyatta’s room and her own office anyway.

Hopefully the research area will be unoccupied this evening. It usually is. The engineering grads tend to use their personal laptops rather than the site-based desktops, and they spend most of their time in the workshop anyway—the workshop Angela’s gone out of her way to avoid, that she’s only just realised she has to walk past, now.

Shit. She hesitates, standing at the foot of the corridor that leads down to the research area. It seems like a frighteningly long distance because the workshop walls are comprised of huge glass panels, allowing anyone passing by to see everything and everyone working inside. Angela has totally avoided this place for the last week because she knows that he’ll probably be in there, that he might see her walking past if he so happens to be looking up. But she really, really needs a change of scenery—and there’s this tiny, awful part of her that almost wants him to see her, too.

Angela takes a steadying breath and walks forward. She holds herself upright, resisting the temptation to look across by focusing instead on the health and safety poster at the end of the corridor, by the entrance to the workshop itself. The clacking of her heels is uncomfortably loud despite the noise coming from inside, and she feels exposed, certain that there are eyes on her as she walks past the workshop. She doesn’t know if they’re his, but Angela walks quickly anyway because she’s afraid of inadvertently making eye contact or, worse still, bumping into him.

Thankfully she doesn’t bump into anyone on her way, and when she turns the corridor it’s an enormous relief to see that the research area is unoccupied after all. It’s wonderful to be sitting on something soft when she drops down onto one of the couches, but she needs to start working, a distraction from the thoughts looming over her. Angela opens the laptop to find the screen black. Pushing the power button yields nothing. Must’ve run out of power. Shit, she thinks again, instantly mad with herself. Forgot to grab the charger as well.

Angela stares at her reflection. The darkness of it is flattering, which is both depressing and hilarious because the woman reflected back at her looks absolutely dreadful. It doesn’t matter though, not really. Tonight she can start catching up on sleep again—can finally go home and put some decent clothing on, peel off the unwashed slacks she’s been living in all week.

Closing the laptop, she crosses her arms over it and leaves it in her lap. A physical dead weight, this time. Angela can’t face going back for the charger. Should’ve thought to bring it with her, but forgetting it like this is just another symptom of her tiredness. So many people have told her to go home this week that she can accept she’s probably overdone it, but it’s so easy for them when they’re not doctors—when they don’t have patients lying unconscious under their care.

The only other piece of tech she has to hand is her phone, which is good for checking work emails and little else. Angela’s barely touched it. No point really. She hasn’t had any time to text anyone, though she supposes she does now.

No. She stuffs it back in her pocket. Frustrated, she tilts her head back and winces at the way her neck clicks, how stiff her shoulders feel from her inability to unwind. Angela's face creases up even more, and suddenly the sob she’s been suppressing all day bubbles into the back of her throat. Don’t, she tells herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Don’t you dare.

The feeling ebbs after a moment, blunted again where it was sharp. Only a few more hours at work and she can go home. Angela tries to relax into the couch, keep her eyes closed and embrace the quietness of the room. Now that she’s sitting down she’s too exhausted to think, much less cry. Probably best to have a little nap, perhaps half an hour or so. Then she could go and get the charger. Start working again. Keep busy.

“Angie?”

It’s a deep voice coming from somewhere beside her. There’s a hand on her shoulder with a comforting weight to it that makes Angela stir, and she smiles, warmed all over by it.

“Angela? Come on now, lass, wake up.”

Her eyes crack open. Angela’s heart sinks when she realises she misheard—that the voice belongs to Torbjörn, who pats her shoulder as her head lifts up.

“That’s it, attagirl,” he says. He’s leaning over her, wearing his coat like he’s about to leave.

“Sorry,” she says, croaking. “Must’ve dozed off.”

Torbjörn makes a disapproving sound. “Think you’ve been in here almost four hours now.”

“What?” she asks, panicked. “What time is it?”

“Coming up to nine o’clock,” Torbjörn tells her, nodding his head over at the clock hanging on the wall.

Four hours? Angela grimaces. Not again, she thinks, joints clicking as she gradually pulls herself up. Admittedly the only proper rest she’s had all week has been through passing out like this, but it’s disheartening to realise that taking what was supposed to be a brief nap means she’s wasted four hours of potential progress. Well, at least she won’t have any keyboard indents on her face this time, and the couch is certifiably more comfortable than her desk.

“What’re you doing here so late?” she asks him, rubbing her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Torbjörn huffs. “Had some work that needed doing. Good thing I saw you, was about to lock you in here for the rest of the night.”

“Wouldn’t have been such a bad thing,” Angela says, managing a smile at him. “I was actually planning on going home but now it doesn’t seem worth it, seeing as I’ve managed to waste so much time.”

Her head feels swampy from napping for too long. Angela glances around for her laptop only to curse when she notices it on the floor, disappointed that the clatter it would’ve made when it fell clearly wasn’t enough to wake her up. She darts down to grab it, dizzy from the quick movement when she pulls it into her lap. Torbjörn scowls at her, folding his arms.

“I thought Zenyatta was all better now,” he says.

“He is, but I need to find a patch so it won’t happen again.”

Torbjörn is so short that he’s about level with her eyes where she’s sitting on the couch. Angela offers him another smile, something brighter as she’s slightly more awake, and his scowl eases off.

“Hmm. Well, as you’re here, how about a nice cup of cocoa, eh? I’m more than happy to make you one before I go, wouldn’t mind one m’self.”

“I should really get back to work,” Angela says, shaking her head. This is one of the more polite attempts to get her to have a break, but it’s still second nature to decline it. She wilts when Torbjörn’s scowl returns.

“Sorry, Angela, but that doesn’t wash with me.” He leans in to pat her shoulder again, harder this time, encouraging her to move. “Come on, a cuppa cocoa’ll do ya the world of good.”

She doesn’t have the energy to fight him on this. Could probably use a drink, anyway.

“Well… alright,” Angela says, pushing up onto her feet. Torbjörn turns to leave but when she goes to move with him she freezes. The kitchen is back towards the landing area where engineering meets medical, meaning they’ll have to go past the workshop again.

“Wait,” she says. “Is the—have you locked the workshop, too?”

Torbjörn arches an eyebrow at her.

“Not just yet, no. Still being used.”

“I didn’t realise the graduates stayed this late,” she says, walking with him.

“Don’t be silly, they leave at the same time as everyone else!” he laughs, locking the door behind them. “There’s only one other person daft enough to pull the same late nights as you.”

Oh. When she was in Japan she always assumed his late nights were because he simply preferred staying up, not because he was at headquarters working all evening. If she’d known—if he’d told her—she would’ve worried, told him not to work so late.

“I see,” Angela says, quietly.

Torbjörn leads them down the corridor. Dread fills her stomach, and Angela hugs her laptop to her chest as they walk together, feeling him there in the corner of her eye, the only person left in the workshop. Before she can stop herself she looks over, just a quick glance, wanting to see him, wanting to know he’s there.

Jamie is there. He’s on his own. All of the lights are off except for the one above his bench, and he’s holding one of his grenades, squinting at it with a soldering iron in hand. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is limp, like he hasn’t bothered washing it in a while. He’s in that orange hoodie again, the one from Japan, but it’s much dirtier than the last time she saw him wearing it. Angela is about to look away the moment Jamie glances up, and her heart stops when their eyes meet, when he straightens up and just. Looks at her.

It hurts that it’s been a week since he slammed the door shut. It hurts that she hasn’t known what to say to him, that they haven’t texted, haven’t smiled, haven’t acknowledged each other. It hurts that he looks so tired, that she can’t just walk in there and wipe his face, pull him close. That she still wants to, even now, even after all those awful things he said.

What hurts most of all, though, is when Jamie is the first to break their gaze and scowl back down at what he was doing, almost like he’d never seen her at all.

Angela is trembling when they come to the kitchen, grateful to be sitting down again while Torbjörn busies himself pouring out their cocoa. The sob is back at the base of her throat, and when Torbjörn puts their mugs down her eyes prickle with the threat of tears.

“Thank you,” she says, before drowning the need to cry with a generous gulp of cocoa. It’s thick and sweet, a reminder of the hot chocolate her father used to make when she was a child. She doesn’t drink sweet things like this very often, but it’s nice every now and again, a rare and comforting treat.

Torbjörn plonks himself down in the seat next to her.

“You’ve been sleeping in that bloody ward all week, haven’t you,” he says, more of a statement than a question. Angela nods, cupping the mug in both hands. She hasn’t left headquarters at all since Zenyatta was admitted.

“Sort of. It’s been easier to sleep at my desk, to be honest.”

“Knew you’ve been overdoing it,” Torbjörn mutters, shaking his head.

“Of course I have,” Angela says, almost laughing. “Everyone’s been telling me to go home, to—I don’t know, take breaks and get more rest. I don’t think they understand that I have a duty of care to uphold.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Torbjörn says. “But you’ve got a duty of care to y’self as well, which you seem to have forgotten.”

Angela opens her mouth to object to this, but stops, knowing that unfortunately he’s right.

“The most important thing has been getting Zenyatta well again,” she says instead. Torbjörn hmms sceptically.

“Then why are you still like this even though he’s alright?”

Angela is beginning to feel uncomfortable.  
  
“I told you already, it’s not over yet.”

“The worst of it is,” he counters, easily. “C’mon, Angela, how long’ve we known each other now? Ten, eleven years?”

She shifts in her seat, having an idea of where this is going. Angela tries to ignore Torbjörn’s knowing look by staring down at the swirled liquid in her mug.

“Twelve,” she says, reluctantly.

“Right. Think I can tell when there’s something wrong,” he says. Angela bristles, feeling his eyes on her like a spotlight. “Now then, are you going to tell me what’s _really_ been getting you down, or do I have to guess? Because I’ve got a pretty good idea already, seeing as the other half of your problem has been such a bloody nightmare all week.”

Angela glances up at him, worry knifing her stomach.

“You mean—Jamie?” she says, before she can stop herself. Torbjörn’s eyebrows lift up.

“Oh, he’s _Jamie_ now, is he?” he asks, grinning.

Being teased stirs something unbearable inside her, making her grimace. Angela looks down again. She thought she’d done a good job of hiding all of this. What's she supposed to say to him? She doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want anyone to know about her crush, not really. But it seems like she doesn’t have to. This exhausting week and the kind offer of cocoa have weakened her enough for Torbjörn to see right through her, apparently.

“Anyway, yes, Jamie or Junkrat, whichever,” he says. “Have you two had a falling out?”

Left with no choice but to bite the bullet on this one, Angela sighs.  
  
“I suppose you could say that,” she says, sounding as fragile as she feels to finally be discussing this. “We haven’t spoken all week.”

“Ah. know he’s been looking forward to seeing you again. What happened?”

Angela must be even more of a fool than she thought to feel guilty, hearing this.

“I was looking forward to seeing him, too. We’d made—plans, outside of work, but then Zenyatta was admitted, and, well." She frowns. “Jamie said some truly terrible things about him.”

Remembering this almost makes her grateful for the anger it induces, as it immediately dissolves her guilt. Angela hasn’t devoted any time to processing her argument with Jamie, having used every distraction possible to avoid it, but now that she’s thinking about what he said the anger is boiling at the surface, a powerful reminder of why they’re not talking.

“I see.” Torbjörn takes a sip of cocoa. “I expect he was worried about you working y’self to death trying to get him fixed.”

“It—I know that, but he should’ve understood that medical emergencies take priority, regardless of who is involved. Nor does it excuse what he said.”

“Well, I don’t know what he said, but you have to understand where he’s coming from.”

“I do understand,” Angela says, frowning at Torbjörn now, hands gripped into fists either side of her mug. “I know he’s gone through a lot, I understand why he feels the way he does, but that’s no excuse for him to have said such awful things about Zenyatta. About one of our own!”

“With all due respect, Angela, I don’t think you _do_ understand,” Torbjörn says, reaching out to put his hand over hers. “For you, what happened in Australia was something to read about in the news. That was his home. His _life_.”

Angela takes a breath, thinking she has something to say to this, but—she doesn’t. Torbjörn looks at her evenly.

“You’ve had very different upbringings, come from very different backgrounds. I know you’ve lost plenty in your time, but so has he. Think what you will, but of course he’s going to have reservations about ‘em. Even with our Zen being the best example of their goodness.”

In all the time she’s known Jamie, Angela doesn’t think she’s ever given their differences any thought. It’s just felt natural for him to be part of the team, to be someone she’s connected with regardless of where he’s come from, what he’s done. In the beginning she remembers her concern about his lack of family history—remembers that it was something she wanted to discuss—but obviously that never happened. She was so pleased with herself for being able to look past the things that turned Lena off Jamie so quickly, but suddenly Angela feels like a wall is crumbling, a wall she hadn’t even realised was there.

“But… he said—he called him scrap metal,” she says, trying to reason, trying to justify herself. “That he didn’t care if he was in a coma.”

Angela’s breathing is shallow. Don’t cry, she tells herself when Torbjörn squeezes her hand. If you start now, you’ll never stop.

“Aye, I’m sure he did. Sounds like the sort of thing I’ve said many a time m’self. Surely you haven’t forgotten the arguments we used to have back when you first joined, have you? When you made it your bloody mission to stop my turrets?”

Angela puffs out a laugh. “That feels like a very long time ago.”

“That’s because it was, but also because y’don’t have to agree on everything with everyone you meet. We’re still friends despite all that, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” she says softly, having to reach up and wipe the corner of her eyes. Torbjörn squeezes her hand again.

“Been married to Ingrid for more than thirty years now, Angela. She feels the same way as you. Drives me nuts, having her fawn over those bloody things!” he huffs, shaking his head. “We still have fallings out over it even now, would you believe!”

Angela’s eyes widen. She’s known Torbjörn’s wife almost as long as she’s known him, having visited his family in Sweden multiple times over the years, but she never imagined _them_ arguing about such a divisive topic.

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, grinning at her. “But I don’t love her any less for it. And she doesn’t love me any less, either. It’s all part of caring about someone, having your disagreements and accepting one another despite ‘em.”

Torbjörn releases her hand to take another sip of cocoa from his WORLD’S NO.1 DAD mug. Angela sits quietly, a cold and heavy weight pooling in her stomach. It may have been wrong for Jamie to say what he said, but it’s frightening to think that she could’ve been this blinded by her ignorance—that she hasn’t actually been nearly as understanding and accepting of him as she thought.

“At the end of the day, yes, he should’ve understood that you’ve got certain obligations,” Torbjörn says, putting his mug down again. “But he’s also not going to get over a lifetime of fear in the blink of an eye, no matter how highly he thinks of you. ‘Cause he does, y’know.”

“I doubt he does now,” Angela says, too wracked with guilt to be happy that Jamie apparently likes her enough for Torbjörn to have noticed. “I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

“And he said some nasty stuff about our Zen, so it works both ways, doesn’t it? He might be… a bit of a handful, at times, but he’s a good lad. And I know where he’s coming from. Judging by how miserable he’s been all week I’d say it’s bothering him as much as it’s bothering you.”

This makes her feel even worse. Angela sighs, a shuddering sound as she wonders how on earth she’s going to go about fixing this.

“Is… has he been alright?” she asks, quietly. Torbjörn blows out a long breath and leans back in his chair.

“Oh aye, prior to all this he’s been grand! Had a few blips here and there but that Junkrat’s got a good head on his shoulders when he can focus.”

Angela almost smiles. It’s comforting to know that her recommendation wasn’t in vain, at least.

“What, um. What’s he been working on?” she asks hesitantly, wanting to ask so much more than this. God, she’s been such a fool.

“Oh, this n’that. Seems to enjoy himself most of all when he’s playing around with those mines of his. Took his upgraded versions over to Japan with him. Sounds like they served their purpose well, too!”

“They—yes, they did indeed.” It doesn’t seem real that he rescued her. Seems more like it was Junkrat saving Mercy, her other, better self—the one who hadn’t managed to spectacularly hurt his feelings. Angela grips her mug, swallowing against the tide of sadness creeping up her throat.

“After you lot came back he was keen as mustard, asking me about your Valkyrie suit of all things,” Torbjörn says. Angela blinks at him, stunned.

“My suit?”

“Aye. He asked on his first day back, said he wanted to have a look at the wings. Had you told him about that research you’d started?”

“I—no, I don’t believe so.” SHe was researching wing fortification back in July, based on the notion of giving herself a little more autonomy with the power of flight. Angela hadn’t looked into it much before all her time was taken up with the new recruits. Jamie didn’t mention anything like this to her, though she supposes he didn’t really have an opportunity to do so, seeing as she ignored all of his texts last Monday and Tuesday. Another wonderful move on her part.

“I got one of your spare suits out ready for him but come Wednesday he wasn’t having any of it.” Torbjörn groans, dragging his hand over his face. “My _god_ he’s been hard work. Storming off, throwing things about the place. Didn’t want to know when I tried giving him things to do. Nightmare!”

“That’s my fault,” Angela says, smiling sadly. Torbjörn grabs her hand again, giving it a shake.

“Nonsense, this is a two way street! I’ve seen for m’self what he’s like! You’ve been under a heck of a lotta stress and that temper of his is the last thing you needed!”

The tears are welling up again, more this time, too many to contain. Angela is proud of herself for not sobbing but when a few tears spill over her face creases up. Torbjörn gets out of his chair and tugs her against him, his long beard soft against her cheek.

“Ohhh, come on, Angela, don’t be upset,” he says softly, patting her head. “I’m sorry for sticking my nose in. We’re all worried about you. Don’t like seeing you like this. And I know for a fact he cares about you.”

Angela’s shoulders heave from the effort it takes to restrain herself. She does, though, gripping his arms where he’s holding her and just quietly allowing some tears to fall. Torbjörn lets go of her when she’s a little more composed, and he dashes over to the counter to grab a square of kitchen towel.

“Come now, dry those tears,” he says kindly, offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, dabbing her eyes with a weak smile.

“Listen, go home and get yourself some rest. You know you can come in whenever, no need to clock in early. Think you’ve probably earned yourself a week off after all this.”

“Really, thank you,” she says again, louder and with a firmer smile. “It’s—I really appreciate it.”

“I know you do, lass. Sometimes it’s best to get these things out,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll see you right.”

Torbjörn rubs her back, a comforting and fatherly motion that eases some of her sadness. She walks with him to the elevators to bid him goodnight, and when Angela returns to her office she’s very grateful to have found a family here despite having no blood relatives left. There’s no replacement for her father, but with someone like Torbjörn looking out for her the gap that’s left doesn’t feel quite so big—nor so painful, either.

A storm of indescribable emotion crashes inside her as she grabs her house keys. There’s a temptation to see Jamie tonight, right now, but she needs time to reflect before she can risk talking to him again. Angela tugs the belt on her coat tight around her when she exits headquarters, tilting her head upwards as a cold rush of November air hits her for the first time this year. It’s refreshing, but she wants to get home now, back to the comfort of her own bed. She doesn’t feel the need to cry anymore, thankfully. She’s probably cried enough throughout the week, lying in that damned ward bed thinking of Jamie’s stricken face whenever she’s tried to sleep.

The carriage lights in the train are harsh, too similar to the ones in the medical department. Angela has a headache when she’s home, the house chilled from the autumnal temperature drop, and she takes a shower, keeping the en-suite lights off and enjoying the hot water in darkness while she scrubs off a week’s worth of stress. It’s midnight when she’s in bed, but her sleeping schedule is ruined thanks to all the overtime she’s done so it doesn’t feel particularly late. Angela really needs to rest, though, and with the house being so cold she doesn’t feel like staying awake to agonise over what she should and shouldn’t have said. That’s a job for tomorrow, when the guilt will hopefully have settled into something constructive.

She shivers, pulling the covers around her. It’s only when she turns to switch the bedside lamp off that her attention is drawn to the aircon unit. Ah, yes. She wasn’t even able to use it due to the suddenness of her deployment, but there it is, patched up with green tape and adorned with that scary smiley face, the one she missed so much while she was in Japan. It’s the same smiley face that was sewn over the shoulder on Jamie’s hoodie, in fact, when they were on that crowded train together. When he’d held her against him, kissed her hair.

Angela stares at it. Those units should be capable of outputting heated air, too. She takes the remote to switch it on and adjust the settings and sure enough the bedroom warms up in minutes. It’s whirring a little louder than it should but blowing out a steady stream of warmth.

Even now, she thinks, hand pressed to her chest as she sits up in bed. Even now Jamie’s doing something for her without even knowing it. The whirring, the stickers—they’re all permanent reminders even while she’s here at home of how much he cared. Cares, if everything Torbjörn told her is true. She just can’t believe that so much time has passed between then and now and while so much has changed it feels like nothing has at all.

Angela grabs her phone. She takes a picture of the unit, making sure the sticker is clearly visible, and opens up her texts with Jamie for the first time in days. She attaches the photo and quickly types out a caption beneath it.

_I came home and the house was freezing. Of course, I’ve only just realised that it can be used for heating as well as cooling. I’m so happy that you put the sticker on it after all, because now I can look at it every night as a reminder of when you came to visit me and how much fun I had that day._

_Thank you x_

While she’s writing Angela worries if it’s too much, if it’s not enough. But the need to send it is overwhelming, so she does, immediately, no hesitation. He doesn’t reply, but Jamie looks at it instantly according to the read receipt, and that’s enough for her, tonight. Angela puts her phone down and resolves to figure out how she’s going to approach this in the morning. She’s sure it’s salvageable. She just needs a little bit of time to get there, that’s all.

Her senior position in Overwatch allows her to work flexible hours, but it feels strange to come in at lunchtime the next day—stranger still to be running on a solid eight hours of sleep. She’s amazed how a single night of rest can have such an instant and uplifting effect, though. The dead weight in her stomach is lighter today than it has been all week.

Angela kept an eye on her phone throughout the morning, sort of wondering if she might’ve heard back from Jamie. Nothing has come through yet, but her emotions from yesterday—from the entire week, really—are still quite raw. Hopefully Jamie will reply in his own time, but she isn’t in the right frame of mind to approach him just yet anyway

Attending Zen is her first job of the day. Genji is disappointed to hear that he will remain ward-bound until there is an adequate fix for the virus, but Zen accepts this news graciously. Angela has a brief chat with Jesse as well, catching him on his way up from lunch. He’s carrying two takeout boxes with him. Angela isn’t hungry herself, appetite still diminished from everything that’s happened, but she’ll get something substantial later on once she’s made a start on work. There are plenty of grads in the workshop, but Jamie isn’t in there when she walks past. He’s probably having lunch.

The research area is empty once again today, and with her laptop and charger in tow she settles on the same couch, ready to immerse herself in deconstructing the virus. Although she finds it much easier to focus on work she ends up napping again after a few hours, so comfortable that she just curls up on the couch. She’s groggy when she wakes up, but she hasn’t napped for as long this time and apparently she had the foresight to lock and close her laptop, leave it beside her rather than let it clatter on the floor. She’s hungry, too, a good sign that her body is gradually getting back to normal after being deprived of adequate rest and fuel.

Angela stands and stretches. She’s wondering what to eat when she notices a brown paper bag and a tall takeout coffee cup on one of the desks. There’s no sign of anyone else having come in here, no other belongings in sight, and an inexplicable warmth bursts inside her when she walks over to take a look.

There’s no note, no receipt.  The cup is branded—it’s a store bought coffee from Lena’s favourite chain, the shop across the road from headquarters. Angela smiles, thinking it’s from her, but when she peeks inside the paper bag there’s a pastry inside that makes her double-take.

It’s an apple turnover. Angela’s favourite, her secret indulgence, and it’s been bought from her favourite bakery here in the city. There’s only one person she’s ever told about this and even then it was a text sent late at night while she was in Japan, a passing mention of a home comfort she’d been craving all day.

The inexplicable warmth blossoms, and she grabs the coffee cup. When Angela turns it and finds a scary smiley face drawn on the side with a marker pen she breathes out a laugh. The coffee is milky and sweet, sweeter than what she’d usually buy for herself, and it’s tepid, so he must’ve left it here some time ago. Angela downs it anyway because she needs the sugar, the sweetness of this impossibly thoughtful gesture. The bite she takes from the turnover afterwards is all rich pastry, fresh cream and tart apple, and it’s even tastier knowing he went out of his way to get it. Heaven on her empty stomach and a painful squeeze on her heart at the same time.

Angela needs a few minutes when she’s polished off the turnover, mostly to let it go down but also to contain the overwhelming swell of—of everything she’s feeling right now. There’re no messages from him when she checks her phone, but this is far better than any text he could send. After she’s collected herself she rushes outside to find him, wanting to see if he’s in the workshop. There’s still no sign of him, sadly. All of the workshop lights are off, just a few grads lingering by the door in their coats.

“Hi, Miss Ziegler!” one of them says when Angela approaches, a young woman with bobbed hair and glasses. The young men she’s standing with look a bit awestruck, though they offer a greeting when she smiles.

“Hello,” she says, looking between them. “I don’t suppose any of you know where, ah, Mr. Fawkes is, do you?”

Angela doesn’t think she’s ever referred to him as Mr. Fawkes before. It’s apparently odd for the grads to hear this, too, as it takes them a moment to remember who he is.

“Oh, yes!” says the girl. “Sorry, we’re so used to calling him Junkrat. I think he’s gone home early today. Torby—er, Mr. Lindholm will be locking up soon.”

The disappointment from hearing this is quickly outweighed by relief. Hopefully he’s left early to compensate for all these late nights he’s supposedly been doing.

“In that case, would you possibly mind directing me to his workstation?” Angela asks.

“He tends to grab any free bench but his actual desk area is that one over in the corner,” says one of the boys, pointing over to it.

She thanks them and heads inside, switching on the lights. There’s a bench towards the back that’s a real mess, littered in all manner of materials. Even the laptop here is covered in stickers, a new model that he’s already managed to scuff. This is definitely Jamie’s workstation, Angela thinks, grinning as she looks it over. A pile of stickynotes are next to a discarded grenade shell, so she plucks one off and grabs the marker from the pen pot, the one he must’ve used for her coffee. She writes a little _Thank you x_ and attempts to draw one of his smiley faces, though it doesn’t look quite as menacing as his, and just before she leaves she gives it a halo, too, so he’ll know with certainty who it’s from.

Angela is giddy when she’s back in front of her laptop. While she’s keen to bridge the gap between them, however, she can’t forget about work, and she stays at HQ for a couple more hours before heading home again. It’s probably for the best that she didn’t get to see him today—she still isn’t quite ready to actually speak to him, but she has an inkling that he might not be ready either, judging by his painfully sweet gesture. It’s a promising start, though.

She arrives a little earlier the next day, in time to catch the lunch hour rush from the cafeteria. The elevator is crammed with women from accounting when she steps in from reception, and a couple of other grads from engineering shift to let her in. They’re too busy talking to notice her.

“I know, I don’t get him at all!” one of them says. “Suddenly he’s right as rain again. I thought his girlfriend dumped him or something!”

“Mate, you must be joking! Of course he doesn’t have a girlfriend, you only need to look at how filthy he is all the time to see that,” says the other. They laugh.

“Dunno, some girls go for that sort of look. Oh well, at least he’s feeling better!”

“I mean, I’m glad he’s alright, but he’s so _annoying_ when he’s all… stupidly happy like this.”

“Okay, but would you rather see him stupidly happy, or stupidly depressed?”

“Augh, yeah, fair point.”

Angela is grinning when she steps out of the elevator, turning left when the grads turn right. As usual, she checks on Zenyatta before heading over to engineering. They still haven’t texted one another, but by now Jamie will hopefully have seen her stickynote. She walks confidently past the workshop. Sure enough he’s in there, standing by his bench, holding up a blade of translucent gold-coloured material. He’s in a yellow hoodie today that’s bigger and cleaner than the orange one, but it hurts to see that Jamie still looks tired, that there are still dark circles under his eyes. His hair is back to form, at least, all wild blonde flames on his head.

Seeing him makes Angela smile instantly. She isn’t expecting him to catch her eye. When he does—when Jamie notices her and grins right back at her from across the workshop—Angela’s stomach flips. She’s almost tempted to wave at him, but she doesn’t want to attract too much attention to herself and honestly, she’s simply delighted to have finally shared a smile with him again, something as simple as this reassuringly exhilarating.

There’s no coffee waiting her when she comes into the research area. Instead, Jamie appears to have returned her stickynote. Angela sets her laptop down and peels it off the desk, biting her lip around another smile. He’s added surprisingly detailed wings to her smiley face, and there’s an _x_ next to her own, almost like he’s saying thank you and kissing her back.

Angela draws over it again, giving the smiley face eyelashes and adding another _x_. She has a lot of work to do first, but she’s going to try and put it back on his desk when he pops out again, see if perhaps this is going to become their new version of texting in this tentative no man’s land between them.

It does. By the end of the week Jamie has tacked on three additional stickynotes and they’ve given the smiley face elegant legs, muscly arms and an array of accessories. There are so many kisses that the original note is full, and come Friday morning Angela is excited on her way to headquarters, because she’s _finally_ going to talk to him in person. Last night she carefully planned everything she wants to say, and has an elaborate plot ready to get him out of the workshop so they can have a proper talk. Angela is sweating a little when she arrives in reception, but she’s standing by her decision to approach him, and arrived early today so she can make a good start on work before putting her meticulous plan into motion.

Naturally, this plan completely falls apart when the elevator doors open up to reveal Jamie stood inside on his own.

They blink at one another.

“Hi,” Angela breathes, smiling nervously.

“G’day,” Jamie says, smiling back.

There’s a long pause. The doors start to close but his metal hand shoots out to push them open again, making Angela jolt back.

“You, er. Coming in?” he asks, half laughing while he holds the door.

“Yes, sorry,” she says, half laughing too as she darts inside. Now she’s standing in front of him, one arm gripping her tablet tight against her chest. They smile awkwardly at each other.

“Thank you,” she says, sure her face is on fire. Jamie scratches his cheek.

“S’alright,” he says. “So, er, how’s it—”

“Wait!”

A handful of people rush in just as the doors start to close again. They all need different floors, of course. Angela has to move back until they’re standing side by side, tensed up in this enclosed space. When the doors close she keeps her eyes forward, locked on the backs of the people standing in front of her.

Shit! The first time they’ve properly acknowledged one another in person all week, and it’s in—in an elevator of all places! What’s she supposed to do here? Should she—say something? Ask how his day’s going?  Act like this isn’t happening and just suffer through this excruciating ride up in silence? Doesn’t help that he’s wearing that damned orange hoodie again, that she’s standing so close to him she can practically feel its soft warmth from here. Fuck!

Angela jolts from the touch of cool metal against her hand, only to look down and see that Jamie’s holding it, lacing their fingers together. He tugs, gently, and even though her eyes are stuck on the floor she can feel a sudden warmth against her ear, smell the diesel on his skin.

“M’sorry, Angie,” he says, just above a whisper. “Been a right idiot.”

Angela’s breath catches. The warmth goes away. He hasn’t let go of her hand, but when she glances up at him he’s looking away from her, over at the wall. His face is red.

The elevator stops and two people leave. She squeezes his hand. Jamie hesitantly looks back to her, but Angela’s already up on her toes, trying to reach his ear. He leans down for her, eyes wide, anxious.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispers. “For what I said. I never wanted to hurt you.”

His metal grip tightens around her hand, cold but firm. Angela comes down from her toes and looks forward. There’s so much more that she wants to say, but she can’t, not here.

“I know y’didn’t,” Jamie murmurs back, against her ear again. She shivers. “Didn’t mean to hurt you, either.”

Another stop. Both of them are staring straight ahead as two more leave. There’s just one person left aside from them, Dan from legal. Angela doesn’t think she’s seen him since their night out at the Prince Regent. He seems nervous as well, fidgeting in front of them, though she doubts he’s sweating like she is. Thankfully he hasn’t turned around.

“I’ve, uh. Been having a look at your suit,” Jamie says, louder, conversationally. She should be sad that the moment is officially over with this, but he’s still holding her hand.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Dan from legal coughs. Angela glares at the back of his head, wishing she had the power to fire him for daring to share this space with them right now.

“Been sorta thinking about your dependency on those wings and all that,” Jamie says, scratching his human hand through his hair. He’s frowning, looks thoughtful. “Not sure I’ll be able to do anything about it, ‘course, but… s’no harm in trying, right?”

He finally meets her eyes, offering a hopeful smile that warms her all over despite his cold grip. If he’s saying what she thinks he’s saying, Angela has no reason to be afraid anymore.

“No, of course not,” she says, softly. She squeezes his hand once more. “I’m—thrilled you want to try at all, actually.”

Dan gets off. It’s just one floor up now, the next stop for their departments. Angela gazes up at him, into the clear amber of his eyes. Jamie looks tired. There’s something different about him now, though, his shoulders soft where they were tense. His hopeful smile pulls a bit wider.

“Think I’d be a bloody great fool not to,” he says, as the elevator comes to a stop.

The doors open. Angela lets go of his hand and leaves first, stopping just outside it when Jamie steps out behind her.

“I’d, um.” She hesitates, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d better go and check on Zen.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lift up a little. “Oh right,” he says, before grinning. “I’ll look forward to your postit then, shall I?”

Angela laughs, partly from thinking of their stickynote but mostly from the relief of his reaction.

“Yes, please do,” she says. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

Jamie’s grin sharpens, baring his teeth. “Too right it is,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “If there ain’t at least five kisses on there, Miss Mercy, I’ll be having some strong words with you!”

She must have forgotten how easily he makes her laugh, because when she does again the sound seems foreign. He’s never acknowledged their kisses before. She supposes she hasn’t, either, but she’s elated by the unexpected mention of them now.

“Understood,” she says, smiling at him. “I’ll see you later, Jamie.”

She feels his eyes linger on her as she walks past. Angela can’t stop smiling even when she’s outside Zenyatta’s room. She can’t believe that after all of her careful planning, all the worrying she’s done, they’ve just… apologised, so easily. So quickly. Just like that.

Before she goes to open Zen’s door she looks down at her palm. There are slight indents left in her skin from the metal, where his grip was firm and comforting despite being cold. As she opens the door, the dead weight in Angela’s stomach that she’s carried with her since their argument finally evaporates, dissolved by the warm exhilaration of her rejuvenated crush.

Friday seems to fly past and suddenly they’re into mid-November. Unfortunately her reignited feelings don’t change the amount of work she needs to get through, and Angela flits between working in the research area, making conference calls with the team in Japan, and performing daily check-ups in the ward. She’s too busy to see much of Jamie in person, but during their time apart not only does Angela make significant progress, they start texting one another again too. Just little things, _how’s your day_ and _thought you’d like this video,_ hesitant ice-breakers as they ease back into contact. But it’s enough for her to know that the spark is still there, a candle that was flickering now a fire stoked by the _sweet dreams x_ she reads before she goes to sleep each night.

There’s a general sense around headquarters of winding down for the festive period, but Jack and the others have been tying up Null Sector’s loose ends, meaning they’re based at HQ but drowning in meetings and paperwork. Angela makes time to see Lena at the weekend, whose work is over for the year—a fact that’s made even better now that she’s got “no more irritatingly energetic Junkrat to deal with”, apparently. They’re having lunch together, wrapped up warm in a café overlooking Leicester Square, and it’s the first time Angela’s properly been out since coming back from Japan. It’s invigorating to be dressed in her boots and winter coat, makeup on and hair down for a change. Her phone has vibrated occasionally throughout their catch-up, but when it vibrates three times in quick succession it’s enough for Lena to notice.

“Bloody hell, someone’s popular!” she giggles. “Don’t tell me you got a new man while you were in Japan!”

“Oh, no, it’s just—someone I reconnected with recently,” Angela says. She smiles as she looks down at her home screen where it’s hidden beneath the table. Jamie’s messaged her, of course.

“Ohhh, an old flame?” Lena leans across the table. “That’s even MORE exciting!”

Angela chuckles. If only she knew.

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Well come on, spill the beans! Have you got any dates planned?”

“That’s… a good question, actually,” Angela says, putting her phone away again. She cups her coffee in both hands and looks down at the busy street below. They haven’t made any plans, let alone mention the d-word just yet. Angela can’t really commit to anything until the virus is fixed, but with their resurging closeness it’s something she’d like to bring back to the table. She probably needs to spend a little more time with Jamie before she can ask about it again—has sort of assumed he wants to take things slow, gradually rebuild until they’re back to where they were before everything fell apart. It’s just impossible to find the time when she’s still got so much work to do.

“Perhaps Christmas is an ideal time for it,” she says, more to herself than to Lena. “We’ll see.”

It’s a thought she carries with her until she’s back at HQ. Angela is back in the research area this week, busy as ever. According to his texts the engineering department is slowing down ready for the upcoming winter break, but Jamie is still in the workshop daily and both of them seem to be running on similar shifts—12pm through 8pm.  At the back of her mind while getting on with her work, Angela’s been stewing over how they can spend more time together while this unsolved virus is still hanging over her. At a little after 2pm, she thinks she might have something.

Jamie jolts back in shock when he notices her beside his workstation, straightening up where he was bent over it. He was in the middle of drawing something, a massive sheet of paper spread over his desk.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Angela says.

“Oh, sure,” he says, squinting down at her. He’s smirking. “I don’t believe that for a minute. Everything alright?”

“Yes thanks. I, um. Have something for you.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lift up.

“Oh yeah?” he says. She looks over him fondly, his dirty face, yellow hoodie. The pencil tucked behind his ear. Gosh, he’s cute.

“Nothing too exciting,” she says, fishing in the pocket of her labcoat. Angela procures a small data stick and presses it into his palm, gently cupping her fingers over his.

“All of the research I conducted over the summer is on that drive,” she says. Jamie’s looking at her with wide eyes. His hand is warm beneath hers, skin rather than metal. “Wing fortification, mostly, but some other Valkyrie improvements I was contemplating as well.”

“You’d been looking into it already?” he asks. Angela nods.

“Before you came along and took up all of my time.”

“Hah!” he says, chuffed. “Hope you ain’t tryin’a call me an attention seeker!”

“Oh, never,” Angela chuckles. She pulls her hand away. “Anyway, just thought it might be of use.”

Jamie’s face softens, grip tightening around the drive. “Cheers, An—er, doc.”

“My pleasure.” Angela goes to leave, only to pause and frown. “Oh, damn.”

“What?” he says, in slight but immediate concern.

“I’ve just remembered. A lot of it might be in German,” she says, giving him a pointed look.

“Oh. That’s… a shame,” Jamie says. His eyes are narrowed, already piecing together what she’s implying.

“Yes. Well, if you need me to translate anything for you, I’ll be down the corridor for the rest of the week.” Angela turns, looking at him over her shoulder with a coy smile. “Stop by anytime, won’t you?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone’s face brighten quite as much as Jamie’s does right then.

“R- Right! Yeah! Gotcha!” he says, a picture of disbelief with his metal hand on his hip and the other scratching through his hair. “Sure, I’ll uh—do that, then!”

She’s smirking on her way out of the workshop. There’s only one document on the entire drive that’s in German, but it’s more than enough. Angela settles back down on the couch, feeling accomplished. Now that she’s sewn the seed, she’s hoping he might stop by sometime during the week and join her while she’s in here, even if it’s not for very long.

Angela carries on with her work, reabsorbed in moments. About twenty minutes later there’s a sudden clatter on one of the desks. She glances up from her laptop and jumps.

“Oh!” 

“Sorry,” Jamie says, smirking over at her. “Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

He’s putting his laptop down on one of the desks, having brought along his pen pot and the big sheet of paper he was drawing on. Angela stares across at him, setting her laptop aside.

“You—don’t tell me you’ve found it already!” she says. Oh, shit. Give it away, why don’t you!

“Nah, haven’t looked through any of it yet. Suit’s on the backburner for a bit, Torb’s tasked me with drawing out some schematics for his turret upgrades.” Jamie busies himself rolling out the wall of paper across the desk. “Thought it was probably best to come in here anyway, y’know. Ready for when I _do_ need to run something past ya.”

Angela tries to pretend she isn’t absolutely thrilled from hearing this.

“I’ve—I don’t know how much I’ll be able to chat,” she says, a panicked disclaimer to cover herself. Jamie waves his hand dismissively at her.

“S’alright, I know you’re busy doing all that. Can’t hurt to have a bit of company though, right?”

Angela stares back at him when Jamie meets her eyes from across the room. He looks very pleased with himself.

“Think you’ve been on your pat long enough,” he says, quietly. Angela smiles at him, almost feeling shy, caught red-handed in her ploy to see more of him.

“Thank you,” she says.

He sits in with her for the rest of the afternoon. Angela’s concentration isn’t as impeded as she was expecting, and actually, she ends up having a more productive day than usual. Probably because she isn’t spending as much time checking her phone. No need to now that he’s sitting in the same room as her, a few steps away and visible over the top of her laptop.

She tells herself not to hope for more than this—for one afternoon—but apparently Jamie has other ideas. A few days later, Angela arrives at HQ and is surprised to see that a massive Christmas tree has been brought into reception. It’s already fully decorated, and on her way to the research area there’s tinsel and fairy lights adorning the workshop windows. Festivity has hit Overwatch like a truck, judging by this and the top two emails in her inbox when she turns on her laptop.

  
_Subject: Secret Santa – Agent Allocations_

_Subject: FW: Seasonal Party – Save the Date!_

 

“G’day!” comes a chipper voice. Angela jumps when she looks up and sees Jamie grinning, leaning against the doorway. She hasn’t been in here long.

“Oh, hello! What’re you doing here?”

He’s holding that big sheet of paper again, curled under his metal arm. “Thought I’d come join ya, got some schematics to finish. That alright with you?”

“Yes, of course it is!” she says, delighted. Jamie comes inside, and Angela’s heart thumps at the idea of spending another day with him. “If you don’t mind me being quiet, like before.”

“S’alright, I’m gonna be busy m’self.” He’s logging into his laptop, setting up so he’s facing her from across the room. “May as well be busy together though, right?”

Angela smiles, touched by this. She carries on looking through the rest of her emails.

“We may as well indeed,” she says. “Did you see, by the way? It looks like we’ve got a Christmas party after all!”

“Yeah, saw it on my phone earlier. You going?”

Angela peers over her laptop. “Are _you_ going?”

“’Course I’m bloody going!” he laughs. “It’s a party, ain’t it? Free booze, free food. What’s not to love?”

“I don’t know, the theme this year is a bit…” Angela makes a face. With the overspill of work left from the Null Sector attacks, Winston hasn’t been able to arrange a private party for the agents, so their only seasonal event this year is the corporate one. Its suitably underwhelming theme is “festive jumpers”. Angela was really looking forward to getting all dressed up for something fancier.

“I dunno, pretty excited for it m’self.” Jamie stands now that he’s all set up, ready to spend his shift working here with her again. “S’not like we get to wear Christmas jumpers in ‘Straya!”

“I suppose that’s true,” she says. Having Christmas during summertime is one of the most jarring things Angela can think of.

“Anyway, wanna grab a coffee before you drown y’self in work?” he asks, looking at her hopefully.

“Oh,” Angela says. It’s not a date, but it may as well be for how excited she feels. “Yes, alright!”

He’s too busy with his own projects to join her like this often, but when he can they make a little habit out of doing this—grabbing a coffee from the kitchen before getting started on work. While Angela stays curled up on the couch, a nesting hen focused entirely on deconstructing the virus, Jamie comes and joins her when he has reports to read or sketching to do. Sometimes he’ll sit there for hours, chin in his palm while he digests whatever he’s reading, and other times he won’t sit down at all, moving around the desk while sketching, lining, thinking. He’s always vocal, thoughtful murmurs and frustrated cusses peppering the quietness of their shared space, and even when he’s sitting down he can’t seem to stop moving, bouncing his human leg on the ball of his foot at a jittery pace.

It’s so different to Angela’s style of working that she can’t help peeking over her laptop every now and then just to watch him. As if she couldn’t be any more enamoured of him, there’s something intensely endearing about his focused energy while he’s working - the way he’ll mutter to himself, all his funny expressions. Angela has never seen this methodical side to him before, so used to his bravado in training and his flirty sweetness through text. Somehow she doubts Lena has ever seen Jamie like this. Perhaps the grads haven’t, either. She has a feeling the Jamie who sometimes sits with her in here isn’t quite the same as the Junkrat causing chaos in the workshop.

Even though they’re working on separate things, Angela attributes his comforting presence to her increased productivity - the smiles they share in the brief moments of downtime to her permanently elevated mood, too. She doesn’t think she’s ever stopped crushing on him, not really, even when they weren’t speaking. But she’s sort of finding him – finding Jamie – even more captivating than Junkrat. She can feel that they’re close to where they need to be – can feel it brimming beneath the surface, the growing heat of infatuation suppressed under her workload  - but she can’t commit any time to him while she’s still got this virus weighing down on her and Zenyatta awaiting discharge in the ward. She wishes she could. She wishes they could simply return to that closeness from their last day in Tokyo, that she could commit to a date, to just – getting everything out in the open. But she can’t. Not with so much to do still, and not when she isn’t absolutely certain that Jamie is ready, either. He’s busy, too, it seems, never leaving before she does even when they’re not working together.

One evening in December when they are in the research area, Angela finds herself stuck on part of the patch she’s building. She’s been so wrapped up in it that she’s barely spoken to Jamie, answering his attempts at conversation with rather more closed off responses than usual. He’s been relatively quiet himself though, seems to have spent most of today scowling at his screen reading some of her research.

“I’ll go and grab some food for us,” she says, frustrated as she locks her laptop.

“See ya in a bit,” he mumbles, still reading when she walks past.

The cafeteria closes after 6pm as the majority of HQ’s staff work core business hours. It’s quiet when Angela queues for their food, but on her way back she bumps into Jesse. He’s waiting by the elevator.

“Evening, doc. Got yourself quite an appetite there I see,” he says, nodding at her two takeout boxes.

“Looks like you do, too,” she says, gesturing right back at his. Jesse laughs.

“I’m sure you know who it’s for,” he says. “No idea on yours, though.”

They step into the elevator together. Angela regards him with a sceptical look.

“Really?” she asks. It feels so obvious that she’s been spending all of her time with Jamie lately, but then again, it’s come as a surprise to her that Jesse and Genji have become so close. In retrospect, if it happened while she was in Japan, she was probably too engrossed in her own crush to have taken any real notice of how much time they were spending together.

“Honestly, doc, I’ve got no idea. Been a little preoccupied these last few weeks,” he says, leaning back against the wall. The crowsfeet around his eyes are slightly more pronounced under the harsh light of the elevator.

“Have you been getting enough sleep? Napping in a chair beside Zenyatta doesn’t count, before you say otherwise.”

“I sure have,” Jesse sighs, meaning he probably hasn’t. Angela leans back next to him, looking down at the takeout boxes in her hands.

“Is he alright? Genji, I mean,” she says.

“He will be. Just wants to see Zen outta that ward, I think. He knows you’re doing your best, before you go worrying yourself about him as well.” He gives her shoulder an affectionate shake with his cybernetic hand, a little more cumbersome than the metal touch she’s grown accustomed to. “That’s my job.”

“Are _you_ alright?” Angela asks, looking up at him. Jesse meets her eyes easily, wearing the same relaxed smile as ever.

“Never better,” he says. Something about the way he says it makes her think he does mean it, this time.

“What about your work? Haven’t you had things to do?”

“Some things are more important than work, doc,” he tells her, looking away again.

She assumes he’s just talking in general, but it strikes a little too close to home. An uncomfortable feeling stirs in Angela’s throat, something she wants to swallow, stifle. The gentle whirr of the elevator’s ascent seems very loud around them.

“Any plans for the holidays?” she asks, forcing a smile.

“Whatever he’s doing, I guess,” Jesse says, shrugging. Angela’s eyes widen. She hadn’t thought they were close enough for Jesse to plan Christmas around him, and something that feels a little like envy pinches slightly at her heart. “What about you?”

She laughs. Thinking of Christmas hasn't been a priority this year. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Lena asked if I wanted to spend Christmas day with her and Winston. And Emily, of course.”

“Then why don’t ya?”

“I probably will,” she says, as the elevator opens up. It’s not like she’s made any other plans.

“Well, good. You take care now, doc. See you later,” Jesse says, giving her shoulder another shake. He winks at her before turning left down the corridor, Angela turning right, back to see Jamie. She feels a little shaky heading back in there, thinking about the date that’s been left unmade in all the time they’ve been together, the excuses she’s used to explain their lack of progression. Her fear of committing to anything that isn’t work, frankly. It’s gnawing at her a bit too much to ignore this time.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” she asks, setting down his takeout box. She pulls up a seat beside him in an unusually bold move, and Jamie blinks at her, smiling like this is a pleasant surprise for him, too. Normally she keeps a safe distance between them.

“Nothing much,” Jamie says, leaning away from his laptop. “We’ve got a whole week off, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed,” Angela says. One of the few benefits to being Overwatch Incorporated is the annual leave provided. The agents will need to be on-call in the event of an emergency, but nobody is expected to actually work over the Christmas week, an old English tradition that’s somehow carried through to modern day.

“Phew, that’s good. Don’t think I’ve ever spent Christmas day outside ‘Straya before!”

“What would you normally do there?”

“Depends really.” He shrugs. “Rob a bank, have a pissup on the beach. Weather’s much better out there this time of year. Christmas don’t feel right without sunshine!”

Angela looks at him. He’s in the orange hoodie today. It really, really needs a wash, but it’s Angela’s favourite thing to see him in, conjures nothing but good memories. He’s got the sleeves pulled down, toying with the cuffs.

“What’re you doing this year?” she asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Going to New Zealand.” Jamie picks at the fraying edges. “Probably flying out the day before Christmas Eve, haven’t booked it yet.”

Angela frowns. “New Zealand?”

“Yeah,” Jamie sighs. “Roadie’s gonna see his mum, wants to drag me along with him. Looking forward to getting some sunny weather to be honest. Probably visit Aus too, make the most of being out there.”

Angela laughs away her immense disappointment. It was probably stupid of her to think he’d be here for the holidays. “I’m sure it’ll be much better than here,” she says, glancing down at her lap. Jamie bunts his shoulder against hers suddenly, making her look back up at him. He’s grinning.

“What about you? Seeing anyone special this year?”

She bunts him back, pleased that he’s still interested enough to quiz her on this.

“You know I’m not,” Angela tells him, returning his grin. “Can’t really do anything with – all this hanging over me,” she says, gesturing at the room, at her work. At the air around them, so full of everything that’s not being said.

“Think you need a break, Angie,” he says, quietly. “Aren’t you tired of all this?”

“Very,” she sighs. “But the sooner it’s done, the sooner I can go back to focusing on other things.”

She smiles at him. Jamie smiles back, something soft and open about it that leaves her yearning. Angela takes a breath, thinking she’s got the courage to finally say it, ask him right here and now. _Let’s go on that damn date_.

Jamie reaches out, patting her shoulder gently with his metal hand.

“You’ll be alright,” he tells her, confidently. “I know y’gotta get through it.”

Well. She tried, at least. Angela feels slightly alleviated when she’s sitting in front of her laptop again, the gnawing sensation eased somewhat from speaking to him. She even manages to get a decent amount of work done, satisfied by the time she’s packing her things away.

“I’d better get going,” Angela says, walking over to his desk. “I hope I can crack this thing before Christmas.”

Jamie grins up at her, sitting back in his chair. Angela’s eyes flick to the screen. He’s still on the same page as earlier, halfway through one of the reports she sent. 

“You and me both. Think you’re any closer?” he asks, eyebrows lifting hopefully. For a second she isn’t sure what he’s asking her.

“I think so.” Angela frowns, looking over his face. It’s been much cleaner ever since he started joining her in here, but Jamie’s eyes are tired as ever. “You’re not staying late again, are you?”

He waves her off. “Eh, maybe. Dunno yet, not in any rush to get home. Don’t lemme keep ya, though.”

Angela sighs. He turns back to his laptop, anyway.

“Give us a text when you’re home, yeah?” he calls out, as usual, just as she reaches the doorway. She smiles.

“Will do.”

Angela still doesn’t actually know when he leaves headquarters in the evening. It worries her that he’s still looking so tired after all this time, ever since their argument. It was understandable back then, but she doesn’t quite know what’s going on that’s still giving him those dark circles, making him look so worn out in the evenings when she’s saying goodbye. He’s gotten very good at deflecting her questions about it, at any rate. Angela sort of assumes it’s something Torbjörn has tasked him with, a new project he can’t tell anyone about. She’s a little sad he hasn’t told her if that’s what it is, but it’s good, too – means he’s working hard at following the rules.

She resigns herself to not getting the virus resolved before the party, and spends the last couple of days beforehand mindlessly tweaking the patch she’s built. Headquarters is quiet now, everyone gearing up for the event and the annual leave that’ll follow. She’s booked off an extended period for herself, mostly because she feels like she should rather than through actually wanting to. Torbjörn usually invites her to Sweden for the holidays, but that hasn’t happened this year, so she’s planned to spend Christmas day with Lena.

Of course, the talk she’s wanted to have with Jamie hasn’t happened, either. It hurts that soon they’ll both be away from headquarters, that it’s another problem she hasn’t managed to resolve. What can she do, though, when Zenyatta is still sitting in the ward? It seems selfish to even consider arranging any dates with Jamie. And anyway, she hasn’t been prioritising work so much that she hasn’t spoken to him – and there has been progress, lots of it. Just not quite the progress she was hoping for, by now.

It happens, suddenly, on the Thursday afternoon before the event. Angela emailed out the latest patch to the Japanese team yesterday evening for testing, and she’s spent today catching up on some of her emails from the last month or so. Jamie hasn’t joined her but he offered to pick up a late lunch for her, and he’s bringing it in when Angela’s laptop pings with an email. It’s a reply from the Japanese team, a pop-up in the corner of her laptop with a simple message:  
  
_Success! :) The patch worked. Virus is officially dead!_

Angela leans forward. She opens up the email and reads through the attached reports. The following realisation of all the possibilities this opens up is so sudden that she snaps her laptop shut and gets abruptly to her feet.

“Woah, what’s up?” Jamie asks, glancing at her as he sets the takeout box down.

“I-- ” Angela starts, freezing up. Jamie straightens immediately, eyes wide, panicked.

“What’s wrong?” He scowls, stepping over to her. “What’s happened?”

“I’m- I’ve done it,” Angela says. Her hands are clenched into fists, held up tightly by her chest in her struggle to contain her excitement. “The virus. My patch worked! I’ve done it!”

A huge smile breaks out over his face.

“Holy shit!”

“I – oh my god, Jamie, I’m _finished!_ ”

Angela’s arms fly out. Jamie grabs her and hugs her in such a strong and swooping motion that it lifts her right off her feet, and she squeals, a sound of intense delight pulled involuntarily from her throat. Their first hug, first embrace in so long and it’s – oh, it’s heaven, being in his arms again and knowing that she’s _done!_

“You fucking did it!” Jamie brings her back down so her feet touch the floor again but he keeps her against him, cuddling her close. “I bloody knew you would!”

“I did!” she says, arms clutched around his back, fingers gripped in his hoodie. “I – finally, oh, _finally!_ ”

When Jamie lets her go they grasp each other’s arms, the elation she’s feeling written all over his face.

“All your hard work’s paid off!” he gushes. Jamie’s eyes light up as though he’s just realised what exactly this means for her – for them – and he moves his hands up to cup her face.

“After all this time,” she breathes, reaching up to put her hands over his.

They gaze at one another. Angela’s belly coils unbearably, because right here, right now in this moment, after all this time, all these stops, all this work that’s kept them apart, she thinks they might actually kiss.

“Think it’s time we celebrated,” Jamie says, voice a touch deeper like he’s thinking exactly the same thing.  His expression sharpens into something so confident and determined that Angela almost leans in herself – but she hesitates, realising what else this wonderful news means.

“Absolutely, I just - I need to get Zenyatta discharged and round everything off, before I can do anything,” she says, cursing herself for having to put yet another stop between them. They’re close, so close it’s excruciating, but she can’t – can’t do it, not quite, not yet.

Jamie pulls back slightly, that sharpened look dissolving in surprise. He seems to pause, and in the second it takes him to speak Angela’s entire body tenses up in fear of his reaction.

“Right!” he says, letting go of her but still beaming. He laughs nervously. “You, uh – you go do what you need to do. I’ve got some shit I’d better get on with anyway.”

All at once, Angela exhales her fear and tugs Jamie against her. The little yelp he gives like he wasn’t expecting this is so utterly sweet that she squeezes him even tighter, and his arms come around her waist too, squeezing back.

“Thank you,” she breathes over his shoulder, overwhelmed with gratitude for his understanding. “I absolutely want to do something with you to celebrate, right now, immediately, but – I just need to finish everything off first.”

“Don’t you worry, Angie, I know,” he tells her, breath warm against her neck, and Angela can’t put her relief into words. She allows herself to enjoy this for longer than she probably should before eventually pulling back. His face is adorably flushed, but there’s this slight disappointment in the smile Jamie gives her that tugs painfully at her heart.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” she tells him. “Shall we – back here?”

“You, uh – you sure you don’t wanna just – tomorrow, instead?” he asks, scratching his cheek.

“No, no. Tonight,” she says, insistently. “I’ll text you when I’m coming back. Okay?”

Jamie laughs. The smile is bashful now. “Gotcha,” he says. “I’ll see you later!”

Angela leaves her laptop and grabs her tablet instead, rushing over to medical while forwarding on the email to Winston and his superiors. She’s buzzing, desperate to wrap this up as efficiently as possible and get back to him, pick up right where they left off. Please, oh, please let this be the last stop, she thinks, the last thing that’s keeping us apart!

Genji and Jesse are on their way out of the ward when Angela catches them. The look on her face is apparently enough for them to know, and she pulls them into Zenyatta’s room to impart the good news to all three of them. She runs through the regular tests just to be absolutely sure, though Zenyatta’s been well for weeks now, and then she’s unplugging the cables, freeing Zenyatta from his monitoring.

“Seems like Christmas came early this year,” Jesse says. He nudges her while Genji helps Zen down from the bed, all careful excitement as he checks him over.

“You’re telling me,” Angela says, grinning at him. “I just need to run through a few things with him and then we’ll get him officially discharged.”

Zenyatta’s discharge takes longer than she anticipated, and Winston whisks her away into a couple of meeting rooms so she can talk through what’s happened with his bosses. The afternoon passes in a whirlwind, and it’s far later than she was hoping by the time she’s rushing back into the research area, texting Jamie on her way to let him know she’s coming back.

 _Just nipped out,_ he replies quickly, _had to get something lol don’t worry I’m coming back!_

Angela drops down heavily onto the couch, happy just to be sitting, resting after an exhaustingly wonderful day. She sets her tablet aside and leans back against the couch, thinking she’ll grab a couple of minutes rest while she waits for him to come back. She may be tired, but Jamie was willing to wait for her earlier and she really, _really_ doesn’t want to let him down again, so all she needs is just – a minute, to recuperate. He might even come back before then. God, she hopes he will.

It’s been a long time since she fell asleep in here, though she doesn’t remember it being quite this comfortable before. She shifts, sitting up from where she’d curled up over the couch, and finds a blanket falling down from her shoulders. Angela pulls it off her, recognising it as the quilted throw that usually covers one of the other couches, and looks around.

Still no sign of Jamie. She fishes urgently in her pocket for her phone, dread filling her stomach like concrete. He’d sent her a text earlier. It’s 8pm now, the end of her shift.

_Haha I’m back and you’re asleep. I’ll be in the workshop :P come see me when you’re awake_

Okay. There’s still a very good chance he’s here. Angela bundles the quilt up in her arms and heads out to the workshop. He’s in there, at least, all the lights off aside from the one over his desk. She heads inside cautiously, her heart sinking when she approaches his desk.

Jamie is sleeping. Drooling, actually, lips parted and cheek flat against the desk. Angela chews her lip, beside herself with frustration. He must’ve covered her with the quilt when he came back, a thought immeasurably more comforting than the blanket itself.

“Mmh,” he mumbles, stirring without waking.

She wishes she could just appreciate how adorable he is right now. Because he is, he’s exceptionally adorable, drool and all. But looking over him like this fills Angela with such an acute sadness she grimaces.

Jamie waited for her for so long he fell asleep. Even if she were to wake him up, the moment has well and truly passed. She couldn’t even allow herself that. One moment, one kiss. A single sign that she’s been wanting him for the last however many months, that she’s been desperate for something more than the friendship that’s blossomed between them.

She leans over to pluck a stickynote from the pile and writes him a message.

_Really sorry, wish you’d woken me up! Don’t stay too late x_

She sticks it in front of him, on the laptop that’s open even though the screen is dark from idling out. She delicately wraps the blanket over his shoulders, and Jamie stirs again, blond eyelashes fluttering. He still doesn’t open his eyes, though. He must be conked out. She doesn’t know how he can be comfortable enough to sleep bent over like this, but she doesn’t really want to disturb him anymore than she has already.

Angela leaves the workshop to grab her belongings from the research area. She’s been so afraid of committing to anything that isn’t work, but how can she? Even today, even with how sweet and understanding he’s been, she _still_ wasn’t able to actually do anything with him. No wonder he was so upset with her before. She’s upset with herself, mad for once again being incapable of putting anything else before her damned job. How many times is this going to keep happening? How many times is she going to hurt him, hurt them like this?

“Angela!”

It’s Torbjörn. He’s coming out of the workshop, a gift-wrapped box tucked under his arm.

“Good evening,” she says, smiling sadly down at him. “What’re you still doing here?”

“Ahhh, some of us are still working, even if all those youngsters think they can clock out early!” Torbjörn chuckles. “Anyway, how’s it going? I see you’ve been spending a lotta time together.”

Angela laughs nervously. “Yes, we have. It’s been – nice, seeing so much of him again.”

Torbjörn grins. “He told me the good news about your patch earlier, too. Dead excited for you, he was.”

“He was?” she asks, eyes widening.

“Said he wanted to celebrate with ya, but he knew you’d be busy,” Torbjörn says. “I’m surprised you didn’t wanna wake him up.”

“Oh, no,” Angela says, looking through the window at Jamie. He’s still bent over his desk. “He’s looked so tired these last few weeks, I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Aye, he’s been working hard on something,” Torbjörn says. “Little project I tasked him with.”

Ah. She thought so. Some of her sadness lifts hearing this, but not much.

“I take it you’re going to the party?” Torbjörn asks her.

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “Looking forward to it.”

Suddenly he offers her the box. Angela blinks, taking it cautiously.

“This is—for me?”

“Just a little helping hand for tomorrow,” he says, patting her arm with a huge grin. “Well, I’ll see you there, Angela. And don’t go worrying, alright?”

“Thank you,” she says, and her smile is a little less sad when she bids him goodnight.

Angela doesn’t open it up until she’s on her train home, lifting the lid and peeling back the layer of foam on top. It’s her headpiece – her halo. At least, it’s the same mold, but the material looks plastic and the ring itself is slightly translucent. There’s a red button on the side of it, and when Angela presses it, a line of multi-coloured fairylights twinkle from inside the ring. She lifts it up to have a proper look at it, only to see something tucked away into the tissue paper at the bottom of the box.

Angela smiles, cringing. Torbjörn’s given her a sprig of mistletoe and a ribbon, presumably to tie onto it. What a kind gesture, she thinks, about to tie it on when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_Hey!!! Sorry went and fell asleep didn’t I lol aaagghhh shoulda woke me up!!!_

And now Jamie’s awake. Angela exhales a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, putting the headpiece aside to reply.

_I mean, the exact same thing happened to me, so it’s not so bad. :) I wish you’d woken me up, though._

_Yeah but you looked so cozy there I couldn’t lol_

_Same to you. I’m just so sorry we didn’t get to do anything tonight after all. I really wanted to._

_Lol yeah I sorta knew it wouldn’t happen, I know how busy you’ve been with it all haha it’s fine :P  
Was maaaaaaybe hoping we could celebrate tomorrow though. You’re definitely going to the party right?_

Oh, thank _god._ She was afraid his first text meant he was angry after all, but nope, Jamie has surprised her once again with the second. How has it been months and he’s still surpassing her expectations like this? Angela shakes her head, disappointed in herself. She should really know him better by now.

 _Definitely,_ she writes back. _I’ll be there from 2pm, when it starts. Looking forward to finally celebrating :)_

_Lol me too!!! You on the train now btw?_

_Yes, I’ll be home shortly. You’re not staying late, are you?_

_Nah not tonight. Gotta look good for tomorrow. Got my sunnies ready and everything ;)_

Angela immediately wonders what he’ll be wearing, how cute he might look in a Christmas jumper.

_I’m sure you’ll look handsome as ever. Make sure you get some sleep, won’t you?_

_Lol yes dear ;) anything you say x_

Oh no, Angela thinks, unable to stop the smile from spreading over her face. There it is. That warm rush spreading out from her chest, the infatuation that persists regardless of her prioritisation of work and all these wretched stops she’s kept putting between them.

It’s frightening that she doesn’t have the wall of work to hide behind now – terrifying, in fact, the prospect of actually getting how she feels out in the open. But maybe… maybe she could allow herself just one kiss, tomorrow, after all. Even if it’s through an artificially constructed moment, it would be a moment nonetheless. A way of celebrating, of finally letting him know how much he means to her. How desperately she’s wanted to close the space between them in all this time.

After everything she’s put him through Jamie might not even want to. But if she can show him how she feels, just once, maybe it’ll be enough for her. She’ll just have to see.

 

 *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was too big so I've had to split it. Christmas party is almost done and incoming next!!!!!!!
> 
> MASSIVE, ENORMOUS THANKS to [SNEEPY](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) AND [MUPPET](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile) who I love and adore and appreciate so very much. Holy shit I would NOT have been able to write this without their input, Muppet in particular providing AMAZING beta reading and PUTTING UP WITH MY CONSTANT PESTERING. Please check out her fics here on Ao3!!!!!


	10. Get Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tuewbs drew a truly amazing comic](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/176271619715/tuewbs-special-thanks-to-ceia-ive-spent) from the last chapter which I absolutely freaking adore. THANK YOU!

“Right, I think I’m finally done. How do I look?”

Angela caps her mascara and turns away from the mirror in her office to face Lena, who hmms thoughtfully. Lena perches on the edge of Angela’s desk and looks over her with critical eyes.

“Outfit’s great! You could do with some lippy, though.”

“Lipstick? What colour?”

“Oooh. Cherry red. Something Christmassy!”

Angela smiles uncertainly. “Don’t you think it’ll be a little much? What with—you know.”

She gestures up at her halo, now with the sprig of mistletoe attached.  Lena vehemently shakes her head.

“You need lippy _precisely because_ you’ve got mistletoe! What’s the fun if you don’t leave any kiss marks?!”

Angela pokes around her makeup case. She’s got a nice rouge she hardly uses that would probably be perfect, but considering who she’s hoping to actually get under the mistletoe, she would really prefer it if there were no traceable kiss marks left behind.  
  
Mark. If it happens at all, she’s adamant it’ll only be once.

“Oh, go on, doc, the boys’ll love it!” Lena whines, leaning over to pout at her. “You’ll look amazing!”

It would be a shame not to use it. There’s also the very real possibility that she might not end up kissing Jamie anyway, though that isn’t really a possibility she wants to entertain. Against her better judgement, Angela applies the lipstick and faces Lena once again for assessment.

“Better?”

“Stunning!” Lena says, starry-eyed. “You look gorgeous! Now let’s get going!”

Angela grabs her coat before Lena ushers her out of the office, locking it for what will hopefully be the last time this year.

“Are you _sure_ this skirt isn’t too short?” she asks, trying to tug it down a little when they’re in the elevator.

“Not short enough if you ask me!” Lena chirps, smirking at her. “Oh, stop worrying. It’s a Christmas party for god’s sake, if you can’t wear a short skirt now then when can you?!”

Angela supposes that’s true. She’s nervous, though, looking down at herself. Her jumper was purchased online in a fit of panic last week after realising she’d forgotten to go out and buy one, and is decidedly unremarkable—white with an all-over red snowflake pattern. After rummaging through her wardrobe yesterday evening, she eventually picked out a black sequin skirt to go with it, something flattering to try and salvage the awkward length and loose fit of the jumper. It’s a little shorter than she thinks is necessarily appropriate, but, well. Taking into account how terrible she’s looked in all the time they’ve spent together, Angela would be lying to herself if she didn’t want to at least attempt to impress Jamie, though at this point if he isn’t already interested she sort of doubts a tight skirt is going to change his mind.

They arrive on the ground floor and cut straight across reception, over to the entrance of HQ’s enormous assembly hall. Its primary function is to host conferences and speeches for business guests, but all the chairs have been cleared away to make space for the party and it’s fully decked out with lights, music and decorations. The concierge takes their coats by the entrance, and when Angela steps inside with Lena she’s positively dazzled by the transformation. There’s a buffet, several long rows of dinner tables and even a big dancefloor, though most of the people already here are standing around chatting with plastic cups in hand.

“So this is where the budget goes,” Angela says, looking at Lena with a wry smile.

“All this effort and it isn’t even a bloody ball,” she sighs. “Well, never mind. Let’s go and see the others!”

They’ve arrived later than planned because Angela had some paperwork to do this morning, and Lena was kind enough to wait for her. It seems like they’re the last two agents to join the party—everyone else is standing and sitting around the table close to the dance floor and don’t appear to have noticed their arrival yet. It’s a relief to see she’s not the only one wearing something silly on her head, what with Lúcio’s cooked turkey hat and Roadhog’s reindeer antler headband. Angela grins when she spots Jamie chatting next to him. He wasn’t kidding about his sunnies. As they come closer, she can see that he’s wearing Christmas tree shaped sunglasses, and his jumper is bright blue and orange, Santa on a beach. Some of the other jumpers she’s seen are absolutely atrocious, but Jamie’s is especially garish. Angela loves it.

Roadhog nods in her direction and suddenly Jamie’s looking around at her. She smiles at him, the mistletoe swaying in front of her as she tips her head up in acknowledgement. Jamie seems to jolt back at the sight of her, lifting up his sunglasses, and though he’s too far away to hear Angela could swear she sees him mouth an enthusiastic _WOW_ at her. Not even a minute into this party and he’s already making her blush. That must be some sort of record for him, she thinks, giving him a shy wave from across the hall.

Jamie grins at her, eyes wide and bright when he waves back. Could he be feeling the same sort of excitement that she is right now? It’s possible. But Angela is jittery too, already trying to figure out how on earth she’s going to get some alone time with him without everyone noticing. Her headpiece will probably look benignly festive to the others but to her it may as well be an enormous billboard sign for his attention. There’s going to be nothing subtle about the kiss she’s planning on giving him when the moment is right, though, so perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing after all.

In any case, employees from a wide variety of teams are here in addition to all the agents. There are so many people that it should provide an adequate camoflague to sneak away, so Angela is hoping it won’t be too difficult to get Jamie under her mistletoe sometime before this party is over. Now, if they could just merge into the group without anyone taking too much notice…

“She’s here!” Lena proclaims as they approach the group, throwing her arms out beside Angela like she’s showing off a trophy. The agents are all split off in small clusters, talking amongst themselves.

“Wh—What’re you doing,” Angela hisses, glaring at her.

“Oi! You lot! She’s _here!_ ” Lena calls out again, ignoring her. This is enough to whip everyone’s attention over to them, and the collective cheer that follows is so loud Angela covers her face in her hands, laughing from beneath her fingers in sheer embarrassment.

“Honestly,” she says, Reinhardt’s arm heavy around her as he gives her an affectionate side squeeze. When she brings her hands down she’s immediately surrounded by everyone jostling her.

“Excellent work!” Jack says from behind her, patting her on the back.

“Never doubted you for a second,” Jesse says, somewhere to her side as he squeezes her shoulder.

Winston pours out a plastic cup of champagne for her and then they’re all toasting, Angela squinting as she takes a gulp of sharp fizz. She cringes when everyone cheers her again, trying to feel humbled rather than mortified by this attention. Jamie and Roadhog are looking down at her from behind the others, being the tallest members of the team, and Angela’s smile is helpless when she spots Jamie. He’s got his sunglasses on again, but there’s something so softly fond about his smile back that it makes her wish she could grab him close right now and just—

“You should be so proud of yourself,” Ana says in front of her, grasping her hands and squeezing them. Angela laughs, remembering where she is. Later, she thinks. Soon!

“I’m just so happy everything’s alright,” she says, before facing Zenyatta. “Thank goodness we got it sorted in time so you could join us!”

“The only goodness there is to thank is your dedication and hard work,” he says, offering her a brief but gracious bow. Angela knows she must be bright red with all these eyes on her, but she has to admit that it’s wonderful to be so very appreciated—to have Zenyatta with them, out of the ward after all his time cooped up in there.

The group break away after offering their congratulations, and Angela is giddy from the festive atmosphere. It’s lovely speaking to Jack and Ana, catching up on how busy they’ve been and how relieved they are for the working year to be over. Jack seems particularly exhausted, Hana frowning at him in disapproval as he recounts how many meetings he’s had in the last week alone.

“Whoever thought such bureaucracy would still have a place in modern society,” Angela sighs. “Oh, well. At least you’re with us and not stuck in your office.”

Jack chuckles. “It was pretty touch and go for a while this morning,” he says. “I’m glad to be here now. It’s great to see you again, Angela. I’m sorry that it’s been so long.”

“No need to apologise,” she says. She’s about to offer him a friendly kiss when someone whistles beside her.

“Hey now, that mistletoe better be HR approved,” Jesse says, smoothly. Angela gives him one of her looks only for him to tilt his head and tap his cheek.

“If I must,” she says, smiling around her exasperation. Angela tries to peck his cheek with the side of her mouth so it won’t leave an enormous mark, but it’s still enough to leave two red stripes. Below them, Torbjörn coughs.

“I think you’ll find HR tend to back down when I get involved!” he huffs, folding his arms. Angela laughs, bending down to him.

“As they should,” she says. Torbjörn’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at her.

“Oh, Angela, don’t you look lovely,” he says. “It’s good to see you so happy.”

“It’s mostly thanks to you that I am,” Angela whispers, aware that the others are still gathered around them. She doesn’t know where Jamie is, though. Angela sets her hands on Torbjörn’s shoulders and pecks him on the cheek, too, leaving a full kiss mark. His cheeks are rosy when she pulls back, and she smiles fondly at him, filled with gratitude for his kindness over the last few weeks.

“Jack’s quite right, you know,” Ana observes, when she stands back up. “It’s delightful to see you again after all this time. Our true Christmas angel.”

“Oh, Ana, the pleasure is really all mine,” Angela says. She leans over as a friendly offer, and Ana chuckles, obliging her with a peck on each cheek.

Seeing as she’s making the rounds, Angela looks out to see if Jamie’s close by. He’s over at the buffet with Roadhog and Lúcio, and she falters, disappointed to see that he’s so far away.

“Hey,” Genji says, drawing her attention back to the group. He edges in front of Jesse, looking handsome in his fitted sweater despite the cartoony penguins all over it. “May I, um. Have a kiss too?”

He smiles coyly at her. Angela chuckles, leaning over to kiss Genji's cheek. It’s more of a brush than anything, and then they head over to the buffet together, chatting on the way when they approach Jamie and Roadhog coming back to the agents’ table. While they share another smile Angela can’t really stop and say hello to him when she’s in the middle of a conversation with Genji. They pass each other, Roadhog’s antlers jingling as they go, and a pang of anxiety hits Angela out of nowhere. She’s uncomfortably aware that they haven’t even properly spoken so far today. There’s still plenty of time, anyway. No need to worry just yet.

“Are you going anywhere nice this year?” Genji asks, when they’re by the buffet. He’s filling his paper plate up but Angela’s stomach is too fluttery for her to be hungry, so she only picks out a couple of pastry bites.

“If you count London as nice,” she says, smiling. “I’m with Lena and Winston on Christmas day but aside from that I’ll probably just be at home.”

“Nobody else you can see?”

“No, not really.” Angela doesn’t really want to discuss her lack of plans, nor how lonely she’s going to be this year. “What about you?”

“We will stay in London, too,” Genji says. “But maybe… I don’t know.”

He’s smiling, seemingly to himself, and shakes his head. She probably shouldn’t ask, but it’s just the two of them over here and Angela feels like she knows Genji well enough to allow herself some curiosity.

“What is it?” she asks him, quietly. Genji glances over his shoulder and then back down to the buffet, needling some cheeses with a cocktail stick.

“I might ask Jesse if he’d like to come back to Japan with me,” he says. “Not sure yet.”

“Oh,” Angela says. She wasn’t expecting him to just come out with that. “You mean, for Christmas?”

Genji pauses for a moment. “Maybe,” he says.

He moves up to the drinks and offers Angela a cup of orange juice, pouring one out for himself when she declines.

“If you did ask him, I’m sure he’d love to go with you,” she says. She’s actually certain that Jesse would, an instinctive pull in her belly that’s somehow telling her Jesse would probably go anywhere with him. “He told me he liked Japan much more than he was expecting.”

Genji hmms. His lips are still curved upwards around the plastic cup as he takes a sip of juice. Angela’s been curious ever since she noticed their closeness, but she isn’t as close to Jesse as she is to Genji, and it feels a lot easier to ask him about this despite how infrequently they talk.

“Did you spend a lot of time together there? While I was out there, too?”

“Yeah, after dinner mostly,” Genji says. “Some weekends.”

“Gosh,” Angela says. “I had no idea.”

They turn around, crossing the hall to head back to the others. Genji is walking slowly though, which Angela is grateful for now that it feels like he’s opening up to her.

“You know, when we were in Blackwatch, he hated me,” he laughs.

Of course. They spent years in Blackwatch, bickering all the time according to the stories Jesse told her when they left.

“But I hated me, too, back then,” Genji adds. “I was like a child.”

“You certainly aren’t anymore,” Angela observes, smiling at him. “We can all see how much you’ve grown as a person.”

Apparently Jesse more than most. Genji grins at her like he can almost hear her thinking this.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be here with everyone else for now,” he says. Angela feels proud when she looks over him, the scars on his face that seem so reflective of who he was and the strong and mature man he’s become. She’d thought it was mostly Zenyatta and maybe some of her own influence, but she wonders, now, if it might be the result of all his time spent with Jesse instead.

“Nice to be here with you, Angela,” Genji tells her, dark eyes soft as they meet hers. “I hope you get to spend your holidays with someone special, too.”

Angela laughs uncertainly, ignoring the swelling this creates in her throat.

“Me too,” she says, softly. “We’ll see.”

The party is in full swing around them, festive tunes booming out of the speakers to match the noise of so many people. Most of the agents are sitting along the table as they approach, Lena standing at the head of it with a massive sack of presents in front of her.

“Oh, finally!” she calls out to them. “Come on, let’s do our secret Santa!”

There’s a free seat beside Jamie. Angela moves to take it only for Hana to dart ahead of her and steal it, presumably so she can sit beside Lúcio. It’s—she wouldn’t have been able to kiss Jamie right here at the table with everyone else, but it’s still frustrating. Damn it.

There’s another free seat next to Roadhog on the other side of the table which Angela settles into. She’s happy to be at least somewhat close to Jamie here, as he’s opposite Roadhog, but she’s becoming increasingly nervous trying to plot a way of getting him alone. Jamie is still wearing his sunglasses and looks a bit rigid in his seat, arms folded tightly across his chest with the sleeves pulled right up over his hands. He uncurls a bit when Angela sits down anyway, grinning easily at her from across the table.

“G’day, doc! You’re looking very, er—nice, today!” Jamie says, awkwardly. Angela bites back a laugh. It’s very sweet of him, but she has to admit that ‘nice’ is slightly underwhelming after the _wow_ he gave her earlier.

“Thank you,” she says. “Your jumper is, um. Very nice, too.”

“Thanks!” Jamie laughs, a shrill sound as his face goes red beneath the sunglasses. He must be nervous, too. Angela wouldn’t dare assume it’s for the same reason as she is, but… there’s no harm in hoping it could be.

Lena passes down the presents. There was a modest spending limit this year and most of the gifts going around are silly, just fun things bought to make each other laugh. Despite her Jamie-shaped yearning, Angela is glad she’s sitting next to Roadhog, as he was her allocation and she was rather pleased with her purchase.

“Ah,” Roadhog says, the low gravel of his voice muffled as ever by his mask. He pulls the Pachimari earmuffs out of the wrapping and turns them over in his hands.

“Someone told me you were quite a fan,” Angela says, loudly. Jamie cackles from across the table, but then he’s taking out a small bottle from his own gift-wrapped box, squinting at it.

“Oh,” he says, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Angela asks, peering over inquisitively. Jamie holds it out to her.

“Nepalese joint oil. S’for metal limbs, uh—omnics and such. S’posed to be good in winter but I’ve never got me hands on any before to test it.”

Nepalese? Angela gapes, wondering if—

“Much appreciated,” Jamie says, nodding at Zenyatta. It’s not as wide as usual, but he’s grinning nonetheless. “Thanks, mate.”

“You are most welcome,” Zenyatta says, on Angela's other side. “Apologies that it is not more frivolous, but I thought it may be of use.”

The fuzzy feeling washing over Angela almost makes her shiver. Goodness. She knows this hardly makes them the best of friends, but Jamie’s genuine reaction here is such a massive step in the right direction she can’t quite articulate how monumental this exchange feels.

Roadhog distracts her by removing his antlers and replacing them with the earmuffs. He turns to face her. The cuteness of the earmuffs combined with his frightening mask makes Angela chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand. Roadhog looks surprisingly adorable.

“Thanks,” he says, nodding his approval. “They’re great.”

He leans over a little as he says it. Angela takes this to mean he’d like a kiss, as she’s still wearing her halo. She hesitates for a second, afraid of what Jamie might think. But it’s no use if she can’t have a little fun with the mistletoe, and she’s been giving everyone else kisses, so there’s no reason for him to be concerned about this one—if he is at all. It’s hard to tell when Jamie is still wearing those sunglasses, though she’s sure she can feel him looking at her from behind them.

She has to lift herself up from the chair to reach him, and then Angela kisses the snout of Roadhog’s mask, leaving a big red mark on it.

“You’re very welcome,” she says, sitting back down. She can’t see if he’s blushing, but the way Roadhog dips his head and lifts a hand up to his masked cheek leads Angela to believe that he might be, beneath it.

Jamie clears his throat. “You, uh. Gonna open yours then, doc?” he asks, straightening up in his chair.

Angela glances down at her own gift. It feels like a small box, terribly wrapped with too much paper and even more tape. She sits back in surprise when she inspects the tag.  
  
  
_To: MERCY_  
  
From: JUNKRAT!!!

  
Oh. She wasn’t expecting Jamie to get her. Part of Angela hopes, helplessly, that this might be some hint, some subtle acknowledgement of everything between them, but the other part of her is afraid of the exact same thing when they’re sitting at a table with everyone else.

She can feel Jamie watching. Heart in her throat, Angela tears off the wrapping and cautiously lifts the lid, only to laugh at what she sees inside.

“Really?” she says, holding up the rubber ducky. “ _Really?_ ”

“Thought you’d like that!” Jamie sings. “Y’know, bein’ a quack n’all!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Angela laughs, shaking her head. The rubber ducky is hilarious, but she’s also delighted by it, by this acknowledgement of their playful banter, a reminder of the evening when she first realised she had a crush on him. Not that Jamie would know that, of course. She puts it down on the table with a long sigh.

“Thank you, Junkrat,” she says, the name sounding odd even though she’s said it so many times before. “I love it. It’s very thoughtful.”

“Not at all, doc,” Jamie chirps, hands clasped behind his head. His grin is positively shit-eating, the epitome of smug. Angela wishes he wasn’t still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses. She wants to see his eyes and somehow relay her appreciation for this gift, but Jamie looks away from her anyway, distracted by Hana squealing at the plush she’s gotten from Jack. It’s only then that Angela realises—if they’d done this gift exchange standing up, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to thank him with a kiss, pull him aside and explain how much this silly rubber ducky truly means to her. Damn it!

The rest of the agents open up their gifts, and Angela becomes unwittingly absorbed into Lena and Zenyatta’s conversation about omnic traditions over the holidays. The atmosphere is good enough to enjoy the festivities, but time is ticking on and the fact that she _still_ hasn’t had a chance to have Jamie to herself—even just for one damned minute—is starting to bother her. In the corner of her eye she’s noticed Jamie fidgeting even more than usual, but he’s quiet, too, abnormally so judging by how little he’s added to Hana and Lúcio’s conversation about the terrible music being played. Reinhardt has come around twice to fill up everyone’s plastic cups with champagne but Jamie has declined both times, though Angela supposes she isn’t really drinking, either, her stomach too unsettled to cope with anything more than water.

“Jeez, Junkrat, what’s wrong with you?!” Hana laughs suddenly, scowling at him. “You’re making my chair shake!"

“Oh, er—sorry,” Jamie says, shifting in his seat. He must be bouncing his leg a lot for Hana to feel it next to him. “S’a bit stuffy in this jumper, think I need to, uh—get some air.”

Okay, he’s definitely nervous too. Angela nods and smiles at Lena while Jamie gets out of his seat. She wants nothing more than to think up some excuse, any excuse, to stand and go with him when he ups and leaves the table, but it’s impossible to just extract herself from this conversation and she still has no idea how to leave without it being completely obvious that she’s following him. What if he doesn’t even want to be followed? If he genuinely just—wants some air away from where they’re all crammed in along the table together? Oh, honestly, this is getting ridiculous!

“Um, s’cuse me.”

A couple of young men have appeared at the table, standing behind Jamie’s empty seat. Angela recognises them as the grads who were talking about him in the elevator a few weeks ago, actually. One of them—the one who spoke—seems embarrassed, an awkward smile on his face. He’s looking right at her.

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance with me, Miss Ziegler?” he asks, hopefully.

All of the agents left at the table whoop—all of them except for Roadhog, who sits in silence next to her. Angela is sure that the grad visibly shrinks in humiliation, but her own second-hand embarrassment is so intense she doesn’t quite know what to say.

The other grad steps forward, addressing Hana this time. “Um—Miss Song, would you maybe consider having a dance with me, too?”

Another whoop follows. Hana looks at Angela from across the table, and then she abruptly pushes herself up, smirking at the grad like she’s sizing him up.

“What, you don’t want my autograph as well?” Hana asks, hands on her hips. The grad panics.

“I—I mean yeah, sure, I’d love that, I’d love either really!!”

Hana gives an exaggerated sigh. Angela notices Lúcio snickering into his hand where he’s still sitting at the table.

“Fine,” Hana says, hooking her arm almost angrily around the grad’s. “I _guess_ I can give you one dance, and if you’re good, I’ll sign your party hat.”

And then she drags him off. All eyes at the table are now on Angela. Well… with no Jamie around, there’s no reason to say no and hurt this poor boy’s feelings. It is Christmas, after all.

“Of course!” Angela says brightly, getting up. The grad is visibly thrilled until she remembers her halo, deflating again when she plucks it off and sets it down on the table. Mistletoe is fine as a playful thing with her friends, but not with strangers, and certainly not when she hasn’t even used it on its intended recipient!

Angela puts on a big smile for the young man as they follow behind Hana. The lights over the dancefloor are dimmed in preparation for when Lúcio will be taking over the DJing after Winston’s speech. It’s busy, filling up with people inebriated enough to dance. 

The grad introduces himself as Tom. Angela tries to enjoy herself as they start dancing together, thankfully without physically touching, but she wishes she was dancing with Jamie instead. How on earth has she already been here for the best part of two hours and she _still_ hasn’t even had a proper conversation with him? Angela peers over Tom’s shoulder to the agents’ table as they dance, wanting to know if Jamie has come back, but there are so many people crowding around them she can’t see.

A few songs play, old Christmas hits that’ve somehow withstood the test of time, and Tom asks Angela some well-meaning questions about where she’s from and how she finds work. She’s almost having a good time socialising with him when quite suddenly there’s a firm tap on her shoulder. Excusing herself, she turns to see Roadhog facing her, disco lights bouncing off his stoic form. His arms are folded. Angela’s stomach fills with dread.

“Rat’s feeling sick,” Roadhog says, deeply enough to be clear despite the music. “Think you need to see him. He’s outside.”

Oh no. Angela wants to believe this is nothing more than a miraculous excuse to get them alone and away from everyone else, but she’s panicked by the idea of Jamie legitimately being unwell.

“Right,” she says, before smiling around at Tom. “Thank you so much for dancing with me, but I’m afraid I need to go.”

“Oh, okay then,” Tom says, wilting. He wilts even more when Roadhog takes a step forward. “Er—thanks for dancing, anyway!”

Angela runs through the hall, pushing through the doors and stepping out into reception. She glances around. The concierge is standing outside the building—looks like he’s having a cigarette—and reception is completely empty, illuminated by the huge Christmas tree in the corner by the concierge’s desk. She’s about to go outside to see if Jamie might be out there too, only to notice someone to her left, hidden behind the tree.

It’s Jamie. He’s pacing in a small circle, frowning and kneading his knuckles together, though he stops when he sees her, straightening up. His sunglasses are pushed over his forehead now, and when their eyes meet and Jamie's face brightens, Angela smiles, feeling like she’s seeing him properly for the first time today.

“Hey,” she says, rushing up to him. It's surprising to see that his face is clean, some of the lingering freckles from summer clearly visible, but his smile is strained. “Are you okay? Roadhog said you were sick?”

“I’m—yeah, no, I’m fine,” Jamie says, sort of laughing.

“Oh, thank goodness," Angela sighs.

Jamie gazes at her, biting his lip. They’re standing close together, and for a second she thinks this is it, her chance to kiss him. Angela tips her head up only to realise that there’s no mistletoe dangling in the small space between them, and with a sinking heart she remembers that she took off her halo before dancing with that grad.  
  
No. No!!

“Sorry for worryin’ ya.” Jamie looks away from her, down at the floor. He still has the sleeves of his jumper pulled down over his hands, something she notices when he scratches his neck. “I just, uh. Wanted to talk to ya for a sec. Alone, I mean.”

Angela can’t believe this. She should be beside herself with excitement—and she is, knowing that this was an excuse to get her away from the others after all. But she can’t believe she was stupid enough to take off her halo, that they have this perfect opportunity and she doesn’t even have the mistletoe she’s been wearing exactly for it. She wants nothing more than to tug Jamie against her, grab his jumper and pull him down into a kiss, but she can’t.

“That’s alright. I’m here now,” Angela says, restraining herself by clasping her hands together instead. Fuck.

Jamie purses his lips. He seems incredibly nervous, even more than he was inside, and he still isn’t looking at her. It’s making her nervous, too, though it’s the kind of nervousness that’s flowering inside her stomach, warm tendrils of anticipation rather than icicles of dread.

“Right. Uh. Well, truth is, I sorta—got another present for ya,” Jamie says. He stuffs his metal hand into one of the pockets on his shorts, fishing for something. Angela is immediately aware of her heart, pulsing fast in the base of her throat. Another present?

“Oh?” she asks, with a caution that borders on fear as he pulls out a small black box. Jamie does look at her then, trying to smile again. It’s not very convincing with his eyebrows drawn together like that.

“Yeah,” he laughs, offering the box to her. “Not—got, so much as made, actually, but uh. Just—open it.”

Angela carefully takes it. It’s the same size as the box her rubber ducky was in. She has absolutely no idea what this could be, but she can feel the heat on her face where Jamie’s looking down at her, watching, waiting. Her fingers shake as she flips the lid open, and then she gasps, has to bring a hand up to cover her mouth from the shock of what she sees.

It’s a bracelet. A very delicate bangle, in fact, little more than a thin strip of silver really. There’s an opal set in the centre of it, a big and uneven shape. It’s beautiful.

“Oh my gosh,” she breathes.

“It’s—uh. Australian fire opal.” Jamie swallows audibly. “Band’s platinum.”

Angela stares, almost too afraid to touch it, but she does, a timid movement as she lifts it out and Jamie takes the box from her. The bracelet is quite dented, clearly handmade, and that’s when she meets his eyes again, staring up at him in disbelief.

“Y’like it?” Jamie asks her, gently, brows creased in worry as though he's anticipating her saying no.

“I—I love it,” Angela says. When she tilts it the opal catches the light, and many different colours shine from it, a glimmering rainbow encased in white. She can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, that she’s been presented with something like this entirely out of nowhere. That it’s come from him. The ducky was from Junkrat, but this—this has come from _him._

“Did you really make this for me?” she asks, eyes searching his. Jamie’s scratching his cheek but his smile is more natural this time, wider. He’s gone red.

“Working with metal that thin was a right ballache,” he says. “Kept snapping on me, must’ve gone through half a dozen prototypes. It’s—uh, not sure if it’s gonna fit. Couldn’t exactly measure when it was s’posed to be a surprise.”

Angela is struggling to form words. All those nights where Jamie was working late, refusing to tell her what he was doing. His tiredness then. The dark circles left under his eyes even now.

“You, uh—want me to?” Jamie asks, taking a step forward, putting his metal hand over hers to hold the bracelet. Angela swallows around the ball that’s caught in her throat. He’s so close she can feel the warmth radiating from him, can smell the familiar scent of diesel when he leans in.

“Please,” she says, just above a breath, before offering her wrist so he can put the bracelet on for her. Jamie frowns a little as he does, left hand holding her fingers while his right one carefully slides it over, his metal touch gentle as always. Then the bracelet is dangling off her wrist, small enough to be graceful without the threat of easily falling off. A perfect size.

She stares down at it, rooted to the spot. Jamie hasn’t let go of her hand, cupping it in both of his. His human one is clammy but she’s sweating too, knows her face must be on fire. Angela wants to say something, try to articulate everything she’s feeling, but she can’t, the words aren’t coming. Crying, laughing, thanking him—none of it seems nearly enough for the enormity of this gesture.

Angela’s breath hitches when something soft and warm brushes close to the corner of her mouth. Jamie withdraws slightly, just enough to look into her eyes where he dipped down to kiss her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Angie,” he says, smiling hopefully at her.

Angela holds his gaze. Just as he goes to pull away her body moves on instinct, both hands reaching up to cup his face, all hard angles and warm skin in her palms. Jamie’s eyes widen. He’s bending to meet her anyway, thankfully, so Angela doesn’t need to balance on her toes to reach him, and then she’s bringing his face down to hers, pressing her lips to his.

Kissing him, finally.

He gives a quiet _mph_ of surprise against her, and then it’s over, she’s pulling back again. His eyes are so wide she wonders if he closed them at all.

“Wow,” Jamie breathes.

She looks at the mark she’s left over his mouth, the red tattoo of her confession. Angela thought once would be enough. She told herself it would be. But her body is burning, an unbearable pain from having to stop, and she keeps Jamie's face cupped in her hands, overwhelmed by the need to kiss him again, over and over to make up for all these months of waiting, yearning, longing. The bangle is a cool weight on her wrist when she reluctantly withdraws, just about managing to let go of him and step back, but Angela gasps when Jamie grabs her hands, pulls her close again. Suddenly his eyes sharpen, narrowed where they were wide, and Jamie grins down at her, a look that makes her stomach coil.

“Ohhh no no, don’t think you’re gettin’ away with just one,” he murmurs, a warm breath against her lips. The deepness of it resonates in her belly, and Jamie tugs her forward, closing the space between them and pressing his lips firmly against hers. Kissing her back, unbelievably. Angela squeezes his hands—shivers when he squeezes back—but it isn’t nearly enough to satiate the burn, so she lets go to cup his face again instead, needing to keep his mouth on hers. When Jamie puts his hands on her waist and kisses firmer still, enough to gently tip her head back, Angela makes a needy sound against him, feeling like she could drown right here in his arms.

“Doc!”

The shrill call makes both of them jolt back. Angela whips around and is horrified to see Lena rush out of the hall doorway.

“Doc!” Lena shouts again, looking around reception but not spotting them. “Where’ve you gone?! You’re gonna miss Winston’s speech!”

“Fuck’s _sake_ ,” Jamie snaps, grinding his temples with his metal hand when Angela glances back to him. His sunglasses have fallen back over his eyes, and the kiss mark she’s left is prominent, obvious evidence on his mouth. Ending this is the last thing she wants to do right now—ever, actually—but if Lena spots them behind the tree there’ll be no way of explaining themselves. Angela panics, gripping the front of his jumper.

“We—we need to get back,” she hisses. She’s equal measures relieved and alarmed when Jamie shakes his head.

“Sod the fucking speech,” he says, grabbing her hands. “Not having her majesty ruin this. C’mon!”

Jamie pulls her quickly, leading them past the concierge’s desk. Angela doesn’t have the breath to ask what he’s doing, so grateful that he’s managed to talk sense where she couldn’t, and her heart rides high in her throat when Jamie yanks the cloakroom door open and pulls her inside. It’s filled with everyone’s coats, lined on racks and along the walls, and is supposed to be guarded by the concierge but he must still be outside.

They stand in darkness, Jamie holding her hand while he fumbles along the wall for the light switches. He flicks one of them, the light by the doorway, and then he’s leading her down past rows of jackets and around the racks until they’re in a darkened corner together, surrounded by winter coats and concealed from anyone who might come inside for a quick look around. Jamie pulls off his sunglasses, tossing them aside, and Angela’s hands find their way back to the front of his jumper, fingers clutching the fabric covering his chest. He grins down at her.

“Ahh, that's _much_ better,” Jamie says, hands back on her waist. “Got you all to m’self again!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the party?” Angela asks, dreading the answer even though she’s sure she can guess what it will be. Jamie scoffs.

“Now why would I go back in there when everything I want is right here?”

Oh, god. Angela shudders from how incredible it feels to hear him say that. It seems incomprehensible that he has, that they’re his words, coming from his mouth.

“Do you really mean that?” she asks, barely a whisper. There’s still a part of her that’s thirsty for absolute certainty that Jamie wants this like she does. He laughs, eyebrows knitting together like he can’t believe she’s really asking him this.

“Christ, Angie, ‘course I mean it.” Jamie reaches up to stroke her cheek with his thumb, human palm warm against her skin. He lowers his voice, eyes lidded as they look into hers. “Thought it was pretty bloody obvious I’m smitten with ya.”

Smitten. Angela takes a short, shaking breath.

“Then it must be even more obvious that I’m smitten with you too,” she tells him, a fragile statement, the last step before she can allow herself to jump off the edge with him.

Jamie laughs again, though it’s more of a puffed out breath of disbelief. Angela can’t believe it, either. All the texts in the world couldn’t have prepared her for this.

“C’mere,” he says quietly, before tugging her against him with such urgency it sends a rush of heat right through her. Jamie’s metal hand is firm on her waist, human one still cupping her cheek when he brings her into another kiss, something insistent this time, a tangible demonstration of his feelings that’s more reassuring than anything he could say.

Kissing Jamie is better than Angela ever imagined it would be. Mostly because it’s real, actually happening despite all the obstacles that’ve been in their way, but also because he’s holding her just as tightly as she’s holding him, clinging like this could all end at any moment. They break and meet a couple of times, tentative as they feel out this new ground of reciprocation, until hesitation gives way to hunger and Angela gasps at the warm wetness of Jamie’s tongue against her lips, parting them to taste her. She hasn’t done this in so long but he seems to know what he’s doing, and when she delicately tastes him back her body burns under his fingers digging into her waist. Jamie isn’t as aggressive as she’d imagined but she can feel in the strength of his hold and the way he’s kissing her that he’s hungry for this, for her. Even with her head tipped back where he’s bent over her, Angela never wants it to end, wants to live in this moment with him indefinitely.

When they eventually break she needs a moment to get her breath back. Seems like Jamie does too, the rise and fall of his chest quicker than usual now that she’s cuddled up against it, arms around his waist. There’s enough light coming from the other end of the room that she can see the lipstick stains on his mouth, pink now where they’ve smudged from so much kissing. Angela almost feels accomplished looking at them, some small part of her pleased that she’s been able to leave her mark on him. He’ll have to wipe them off later, a thought that makes sadness clench at her chest. She doesn’t want later to come at all if it means ending this.

“Glad you’re not wearing that mistletoe anymore,” Jamie says, forehead pressed to hers.

“What? Why?” Angela frowns up at him. “Don’t you like it?”

“Nah, s’not that I don’t like it.” He shrugs. “Just don’t need it.”

“I was only wearing it so that I could kiss you anyway,” she says, only a little shy to be telling him this. “Did you honestly think it was for anyone else?”

“’Course not,” Jamie huffs. He looks away, eyes flicking to the side. “Well… I _hoped_ not.” He squints back at her. “Thought at one point you were trying to make me jealous.”

Angela chuckles. He’s probably referring to Roadhog.

“I can assure you that wasn’t the case,” she says.

Jamie hums.

"Thought as much," he says. Jamie pulls back a bit, enough to kiss her forehead, and Angela sighs from how unimaginably happy she is that this is really happening. She wishes she could melt into him, his arms strong around her waist and his lips soft on her skin. They’re softer than she thought they would be, though that might be because she forgot how it feels to kiss someone like this. The Angela going on dates prior to the summer seems like a different person to the one in Jamie’s arms right now.

“Anyway, wasn’t gonna letcha leave tonight before kissin’ ya!” he says. Angela’s heart throbs from how utterly sweet this is.

“Is that so?” she says, smiling up at him. Jamie's smile back at her seems a little embarrassed.

“Well, yeah, been wanting to the moment I laid eyes on ya.” Jamie pauses, then adds, “Never thought I actually would, though.”

His eyes are warm as they gaze into hers. Angela tucks her head under his chin and squeezes him, wanting to absorb what he’s just said into every part of her body. It’s better than every text he’s ever sent her combined.

“I never thought I would, either,” Angela says, talking to his chest now, muffled in the jumper. “With everything that’s happened, I was beginning to think mistletoe was the only way.”

“Nah,” he says, softly. “No way. Wouldn’t have let it come to that.”

Jamie cuddles her, kisses the top of her head. Then he seems to change his mind, dips down to kiss below her ear instead. The skin there is sensitive, hasn’t been kissed in a very long time, and it makes her gasp, knees folding slightly from the shudder it induces. Angela's head is tipped right back where he’s standing so tall over her, and it occurs to her that for all this time he’s been looking down at her—that his posture has improved so much since they first met that he towers above her, tall and strong.

“Jamie,” Angela whispers, over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop kissing her.

“Yeah?” he says, a hot breath that tickles, makes her clutch his back. She’d forgotten how broad he is, too, only notices again now that his shoulders are curved around her.

“You— _nh—_ when did you—”

The door opens at the other end of the room.

“Anyone in here?” calls the concierge.

Angela bristles, freezing in his arms. Jamie freezes too. Both of them hold their breath. She can hear the concierge walking inside, the rustle of a coat. Silence. After a moment the light flicks off, and then the door closes, leaving them in darkness. Angela’s heart is pounding. There’s just enough light coming in from outside the door to see the sharp outlines of Jamie's features, the shine of his eyes as they flick back to look at her.

“That was a close one,” he says, exhaling. Angela grins at him, feeling bolder now that it’s darker, more private than before.

“Perhaps he’ll lock us in here until the party’s over,” she says. His hands are still on her waist, over the jumper.

“Oh yeah? Wanna be locked up in here with me, do ya?” Jamie says, a curl to it that hooks her belly.

“I can think of worse things."

“Can’t think of anything better m’self,” he murmurs, lowering his eyes.

Jamie leans in then, grazing her lips with his tongue in a slow, teasing kiss. Angela’s palms are clammy where they’re still gripping his jumper, but she isn’t at all ready to consider letting him go, even though she’ll have to eventually.

“Wish we could stay in here all night,” she breathes, lips wet from the slickness of his kiss when they part.

“Who says we can’t?” Jamie asks. Angela is thrilled by how serious he sounds.

“You know we can’t,” she says, smiling sadly. “We’ll have to go back at some point.”

Jamie laughs deeply, a sound that twists just _so_ at her stomach.

“Then maybe I’ll just hafta trap you here.” He’s stepping forwards, pushing her back. Angela goes willingly, dragging him with her. “Stop you from leaving.”

Her back meets the wall, cushioned by someone’s puffy coat. Angela can just about see the smirk on Jamie’s kiss-stained lips and it’s making her tremble, dig her fingers into his back. She didn’t think it was possible to want him this badly when they’ve already kissed, but the ache inside her now is different, more painful and pronounced than any prior to this point.

“Looks like you’ve got me,” Angela whispers. They’re so close her lips brush over his as she speaks.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, a dark note to it she hasn’t heard before. “Right where I want ya.”

Heat pools in her belly and spreads downwards between her legs. Angela drags her hands along the back of his neck, threads her fingers up through his hair to tug him forwards, make him kiss her. It elicits a moan from him, another sound she’s never heard in Jamie’s voice before, and then he’s pushing her, pinning her between his body and the wall. His hands stroke down over the curve of her hips and then back up, beneath the jumper this time, skin and metal on her exposed waist. Angela moans into his mouth as his kisses turn a little sloppier, like he’s getting impatient, and she wonders how she ever lasted so long without this when Jamie is making it so easy to surrender herself.

“Fuck me, Angie,” he says, panting it out when he breaks away. She knows it’s only an expression of disbelief, but the heat in her belly has her balancing up on her toes to reach Jamie's ear, ready to make another confession.

“I’ve certainly thought about it,” Angela whispers against it.

Jamie goes still for a moment. When he pulls back his eyes are wide, hands unmoving on her hips.

“You’ve. Thought about it?”

For the first time since she’s known him, Angela thinks Jamie almost sounds afraid.

“I—I have, yes. Is that bad?” she asks, scared that it is. She thought he’d be pleased by it, unless she’s been reading him wrong and all their flirting was simply building towards these kisses and nothing more.

“No.” Jamie wets his lips, purses them. “No, it’s—definitely not.”

Angela wishes it was lighter in here so she could see him clearly, properly read his expression that looks so much like shock. He dips down to her.

“Jamie, is—”

“Is it bad that I think about it every fucking night?” he says, whispered words close to her ear.

Oh, _god._ She suspected, always hoped, but never thought he’d tell her, even if he did. In fairness Angela never saw them getting this far in the first place, but it makes the heat pointed inside her, spiking from the confirmation that he’s thought about being intimate with her, too.

“I think I’d be upset if you didn’t,” she admits, against his cheek. “If I was alone imagining what it would be like.”

“Oh,” Jamie says, lips brushing her ear now. “Well then. Can’t have that. You want me to tell you what _exactly_ I’ve had in mind?”

He squeezes her hips. Angela shivers.

“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says. Jamie pauses, withdrawing enough to frown at her.

“Why’s that?”

Angela looks away from him. Her face is burning, matches the rest of her body.

“Because I’m not sure I’d be able to contain myself,” she says, a hushed voice in this darkened corner of the room.

“Fuck,” Jamie says. He lifts his metal hand off her hip and drags it over his mouth like he’s struggling to comprehend this, and Angela can’t help smiling from having invoked this sort of reaction from him. His body is still pressed against hers, though, and she thinks she can feel something against her stomach, something that wasn’t there moments ago.

“Oh my god. Are—Jamie, are you _hard_ , right now?”

He laughs, apparently not even remotely embarrassed by this.

“Can you blame me? You’re—fuck, Angie, you’re a bloody bombshell, how’d you want me to react when you tell me something like that!”

A bombshell? Angela would cringe if it was anyone else, but coming from Jamie it strikes her as particularly high praise. She giggles.

“Ohhh, it’s _funny_ , is it?” Jamie says, smirking at her.

“No, it—it’s lovely,” she says, biting her lip. “I’m flattered.”

Angela yelps when quite suddenly Jamie grips under her thighs. He hoists her up, all rough brute strength as he pushes her back to the wall and pins her firmly with his body. Her skirt rides up, underwear displayed where her legs are spread either side of his hips, and while she should probably be concerned about this all Angela can think of is how breathtaking it is to have so much of him pressed against her, their bodies separated by a few thin layers of fabric. 

“Is it funny now?” Jamie asks, growled out into her neck when he rolls his hips, grinds the hard bump directly between her legs. It’s so unexpected, sends such a powerful bolt of pleasure through her that Angela grips his back and clenches her thighs around him, crying out.

“Jamie!”

“Shhhh,” he says. She can feel him smirking, the curve of his lips against her neck. “Someone might hear ya!”

Jamie rolls again, grinding himself into her, and Angela strangles the moan in her throat into a needy whimper, fingers scraping over the fabric covering his back. Jamie snickers.

“Just thought I’d give you a little _demonstration_ ,” he says. “So y’know I’m not joking.”

“I think I can tell that you’re not,” Angela huffs, only to moan out when he grinds again, the fabric of his shorts rough over the lace of her underwear. If this is a taste of what she can expect in bed with him, Angela was right to imagine Jamie being aggressive after all, a deliciously exciting thought made even better knowing that it could very possibly happen. Jamie kisses her neck, gripping her thighs where he’s holding them apart, and Angela curses the fact that they’re in the cloakroom at headquarters, not in her bed or his right now. She’s so aroused that it’s dangerously tempting to give in to him, ask him to give her a more thorough demonstration right here.

“Jamie, please, I want to but—we can’t, not here,” she pants, fighting every urge that’s telling her otherwise. Angela gives his jumper an insistent tug, and Jamie’s shoulders sag a little. He doesn’t grind again, just uses the solid weight of his body to keep her pinned to the wall.

“I know,” he murmurs, against her neck. Angela shudders, feeling his frustration in the huffed breath over her skin. “M’sorry, I just—can’t bloody help m’self.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she whispers, hot and shivery all over from the pulsing between her legs. Angela's arms slide back so she can cup Jamie's face, bring him up from her neck so she can smile at him. “I want to, believe me, I just—I don’t want it to be here.”

Jamie holds her eyes. His are intense, molten even, but he gently lets her down, puts his hands back over her hips. He shakes his head, looks away.

“Can’t believe you want to at all, to be honest,” Jamie laughs. Angela laughs too, shakily tugging her skirt down. Her bracelet falls over her wrist as she does, a new weight she hasn’t gotten used to yet.

“I can’t believe any of this, really,” she says softly, smiling down at it. Angela puts her hands on his chest, wanting to touch him again. “But we should probably think about getting back. As much as I want to stay here with you.”

“Mmh. Guess so." Jamie frowns slightly, like he's thinking. "When you gonna leave?”

“Leave? Oh, you mean, tonight?”

“Yeah. What time?”

Angela tries to remember herself. Everything’s been so wonderful and overwhelming with him that it’s difficult to think of existing outside this secret space they’ve created. There isn’t a single part of her that feels ready to leave him, now or later on this evening.

“Probably before midnight,” Angela sighs, thinking of her last train home. Jamie’s hands tighten on her hips.

“Wanna come home with me instead?” he asks, quietly. He's grinning. “Got somewhere you can sleep.”

Angela grins, too. She probably should’ve expected an offer like this, given what they’ve just done, but it’s still unbelievable that she knows he means it.

“Oh really? And where would that be, I wonder?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Jamie purrs.

Ah. Suddenly it’s an offer that’s going to be very hard to refuse, too. Angela exhales.

“But y’know, we don’t—don’t hafta do anything right away,” Jamie adds, quickly. “I know I’ve just—said all that, but shit, I'm so goddamn stoked this is even fucking— _happening_ right now, I can wait. S’gotta be right.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Angela says, hotter from this than anything else they’ve done, anything else he's said. She really, really wants to just say yes. It feels like she could, easily, and go back to his place knowing exactly what they’d end up doing there. But surely it’s too soon, isn’t it? Angela doesn’t feel like it is, but the proper and adult thing to do is build up to it, even if it seems like they’ve done nothing _but_ build up to it, an endless climb with no crest in sight.

Jamie brushes a few locks of hair out of her face. With his metal hand, of course. His human one slides up to her waist, under the jumper again.

“Look, I know you’re gonna say no, I understand why. Y’know I’d never force ya. But fuck, Angie, I just want you somewhere that isn’t here or, I dunno, anywhere else where other people can come and ruin it. M’sick of other people  _constantly_ bein' around us.”

“I’m sick of it, too,” she says, lacing her hand over his metal one. The bracelet falls against it, a soft clink of metal on metal.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Jamie says, bargaining now. “I’d sleep outside the bloody house if you wanted me to, doesn’t bother me. Don’t care what we do or don’t do. Just want you to m’self for once.”

Jamie looks at her searchingly. Angela chews her lip. There’s the answer that feels right and the answer that’s logically right. It seems inconceivable that they’re even at this point where she has to stew over whether or not she can go back to his place, that this isn’t some daydream she’s allowed herself in the midst of work. Now that they’re really here she doesn’t know what to do. God, if only she’d planned for this.

“I’ll—can I think about it?” Angela asks, gently. He nods.

“’Course, no pressure. Just—putting it out there, s’all.” Jamie takes her hands in both of his, holding them up to his chest. “You’ll give us a kiss before you go though, won’t ya? If y’not coming back with me.”

Angela melts. “Of course I will. We won’t be able to do anything here, not if the others might see, but—”

“I know, I know,” Jamie says, squeezing her hands. “I’ll see you off at the station, yeah? Steal a goodnight kiss from ya then.”

“It wouldn’t be stolen,” Angela says. “Thank you, though. I’d love that.”

“Alright.” Jamie sighs, letting go of one of her hands to scratch his neck. “S’pose this means I hafta stop kissin’ ya now though, don’t it?”

“Oh, I think another one or two won’t hurt,” Angela says, yanking his jumper to bring him forwards again. Jamie isn’t hard anymore, but his body is solid, a strong and comforting weight against hers as he indulges her, kissing long and slow to draw out these last few moments of privacy before they head back out to the others. Bliss before the pretence of none of this having happened, Angela thinks, sadly.

He holds her hand when he peers out the door, checking for any sign of the concierge. Jamie’s exaggeratedly surreptitious movements have her stifling laughter as they creep down the corridor together to the staff bathroom. He kisses her again when they part, and Angela aches from how much she already misses him when she starts washing off all the lipstick that’s smudged over her face and neck. Her lips are slightly swollen from all the kissing, and she’s flushed, probably flushed all over from their intimacy even though it was only brief. It was still so much more than she ever dreamed would happen tonight.

Why does she feel so sad? She should be grateful for everything they’ve just done—and she is, truly, still can’t believe any of it even though she’s got the transferred marks to prove it. But it’s almost like allowing herself to have Jamie at all makes the pain of being away even worse. Angela takes a few deep breaths, steadying herself against the sink. She can’t really go to his house when they’ve only just said all of this, can she? When she has absolutely nothing on her except her phone and her house keys, no change of clothing, no toothbrush even?

No. She shouldn’t. But if nothing else, at least she knows with certainty that all her yearning hasn’t been in vain. Angela reapplies her lipstick, collects herself again.  She’s relieved to see Jamie standing waiting for her outside, that he hasn't disappeared back into the hall without seeing her first. He’s grinning with his hands in his pockets, all casual as though they haven’t just spent the better part of an hour making out. He’s done a very good job of wiping his face, too. Angela wishes she didn’t feel so sad from seeing him looking so clean.

“Phwoooaaar!” Jamie says, lifting his Christmas-tree sunglasses up. “What a stunner!”

He waggles his eyebrows at her, making her laugh. Angela notices he’s missed a spot when she steps up to him, so she reaches up to rub at the corner of his mouth. Warmth bursts inside her when he grabs her hand and kisses it.

“Think I need another kiss now you’ve got that lippy on again,” Jamie says, against it. Angela’s heart flutters.

“I’d love to, but you know I can’t,” she says.

“Bah, bloody tease.” Jamie lets go, allowing her to rub off the remaining lipstick. “You need to wear it more often!”

“If I do, it’ll only end up all over you again,” she says. Jamie drops down to her ear.

“Sounds like heaven if y’ask me,” he murmurs, before kissing her cheek. The fluttering in her chest lingers as they walk, and Angela bites her lip around a smile, keeping her eyes ahead.

The understanding of discretion is implicit between them, and they don’t hold hands on their way back out. When they’re passing the concierge’s desk Angela finds she really doesn’t want to go back inside. Considering how thoroughly spoiled she’s been she really can’t complain, knows she has no right to feel like this. She steals a few looks at Jamie, though, grinning to himself as they walk, and she can’t help thinking about the open offer waiting for her like a safety net at the end of the night, just in case she changes her mind.

“After you,” Jamie says, holding the door for her. Charmed by this gesture, as she has been by just about everything else he’s ever done, Angela thanks him on her way inside, and then they’re back in the party, the world outside their cloakroom. The lights are low, the music is loud, and a lot more people are on the dancefloor than when Angela left. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper down to hide her bracelet as they come back to the agents’ table, but she can feel the cool and delicate weight of it over her wrist and smiles privately, watching Jamie weave through the crowd towards Roadhog while she takes a seat beside Winston. He's at the table on his own, looks like he's checking emails on his phone.

“I’m so sorry for missing your speech, Winston. Junkrat wasn’t feeling well,” she says.

“Ah, the others told me,” he says, looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he—thought he had a temperature. I think he was just a bit too hot in his jumper, so we went outside.”

Angela is hugely relieved that her brain kicked into the appropriate gear for this answer, afraid of what might’ve come out if it hadn’t.

“Oh, thank goodness for that! Most of the speech was regurgitated from that end-of-year email I sent out this morning, anyway,” Winston says, smiling. “You didn’t miss much.”

The speech and end-of-year email are mostly a reflection on the year’s successes and aims for the future. She’s very fond of Winston, but the only reflection Angela is interested in right now is the last hour, everything Jamie said to her and the thrilling press of his body against hers. It sends heat rushing through her, head to toe and everywhere in-between, and she tries to stop herself from grinning stupidly as she thinks about how incredibly worth it the rest of the year has been to have enjoyed her stolen hour of Jamie’s company this evening.

They chat for a little while. Angela is happy to sit with Winston and let the adrenaline wash over her, recover from being so overwhelmed, and she joins him when he grabs some leftover food from the buffet. She glances over her shoulder every now and again in the hopes of catching sight of Jamie, but almost everybody is on the dancefloor, letting loose now that Lúcio’s in charge of the music. Winston picks out a couple of peanut butter cups, and then they join the crowd, Angela fishing her way through it to dance with the girls.

“There you are, lovely!” Lena says, buoyant as she takes Angela’s hands. She seems a little drunk. “I was looking everywhere for you earlier! Everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m good thank you,” Angela says, though she wants to say she’s never felt better. “Ready to dance!”

“Good! Bloody Junkrat stealing you away from us!” Lena huffs.

“Is he okay?” Hana asks, peering over Lena’s shoulder.

“He’s fine, I think he just needed some air,” Angela says. “It is rather hot in here.”

“Thought he’d be used to the heat,” Lena says, wrinkling her nose like she doesn’t believe this. “Oh well, glad you’re back! Let’s dance!!”

“Well hello, ladies!” Reinhardt bellows, sliding into their little group with a flex of his bicep. He’s rosy-cheeked and undoubtedly tipsy. “Mind if this German hunk joins you?”

Ana laughs. “I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice!”

Jack and Torbjörn follow suit not long after this, and eventually the group comes together, Zenyatta and Winston dragged in by Lena. Genji looks exhausted when he stumbles into Hana, having extracted himself from a group of women from accounting who’ve apparently been swarming him the entire evening. Jesse sidles in afterwards, grinning with a plastic cup of beer in hand. Angela feels a metal hand on the small of her back, and she smiles around at Jamie, Roadhog giving her a thumbs up from behind him. He must know what’s going on, she thinks, having to look away before her blush becomes too obvious. The room is stifling, everyone sweating in their festive jumpers but dancing nonetheless. Jamie stays close beside her, Hana screams when Jesse accidentally sloshes beer over her shoes, and Angela loves it, loves all of it, feeling happier right now than she has done all year.

“Group photo!” Lena announces, dragging everyone over to the photographer when they’ve had a good dance. Most of the agents are in various stages of inebriation, and Lena herds them together like a sheepdog against the festive backdrop hanging on the wall, insisting that Hana needs to stand _right there_ and Torbjörn needs to come _to the front, please!_

Angela meets Jamie’s eyes when Lena separates them, insisting that Genji needs to be next to her instead. Jamie pouts at her from over Genji's head, eyebrows furrowing, but when the photographer lifts his camera she can feel his metal hand against the small of her back again, making her grin as the flash goes off.

They collectively return to the dancefloor. She should feel exhausted after having such a whirlwind of an evening, but when Jamie takes her aside on their way back to show her the time on his phone—23:47—she’s ecstatic.

“Y’said before midnight,” he says, hand cupped over her ear. “Wanna get outta here?”

Angela nods. “Let me say goodbye and get my ducky, then we’ll leave.”

They share a grin, and Angela is giddy as she cuts through the crowd, Jamie following behind. She bids goodnight to everyone she can find, though Torbjörn seems to be lost in a sea of bodies up towards the front of the dancefloor. Finally she approaches Lena, reaching out to hold her shoulder.

“I should really get going,” Angela says, having to shout from how loud the music is.

“Oh no!” Lena shouts back, appalled to hear this. “Stay a bit later, feels like I’ve barely seen you!”

“I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I’m still a little tired from the week.”

Lena peers over Angela’s shoulder, presumably looking at Jamie, and scowls.

“You gonna be alright getting home?” Lena asks. “Don’t tell me _he’s_ walking you to the station!”

“I am, ta!” Jamie shouts, leaning over Angela’s shoulder. Oh no. “It’s called _being a gentleman!_ ”

Lena laughs, folding her arms. “What the bloody hell would _you_ know about being a gentleman?!”

“More than you! Don’t think you’d know a gentleman even if he smacked you in the face!”

“It’s been so much fun, Lena!” Angela says, darting forward to kiss her cheek goodbye. “Looking forward to seeing you soon!”

Lena makes a sound of disgust in Jamie’s direction. She faces Angela with a smile, though.

“Alright, love. Just don’t let him try anything. Text me!”

Angela collects her ducky from the agent’s table, and then they’re leaving the party together, Jamie thoroughly ruffled when they’re waiting for the concierge to collect their coats.

“She’s got a fucking nerve,” he grumbles, tugging his jacket on. It’s black, might be leather, and looks impossibly attractive on him despite his garish jumper. “ _Don’t let him try anything_. Like I’m some sorta—”

“Shh,” Angela says, putting a brief yet placating hand on his chest before belting her coat. “She’s just—being protective, I suppose.”

Jamie takes off his sunglasses and makes a scornful sound. “What, and I’m not?”

Angela smiles at him. “I didn’t say that.”

Nobody else is leaving yet, and the street outside headquarters is about as empty as reception. It’s a freezing cold evening, enough for her to see her breath as they walk down the steps. The underground station is just across the road. Angela has a rough idea of where their trains will branch off. They won’t have many stops together before she’ll need to say goodbye.

“Surely you can understand why she’d warn me off you, though,” Angela says, when they’ve crossed over.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Jamie asks, sounding hurt. She can hear him pause behind her, only to follow when she walks into the tunnel that leads down to the station, his metal leg clunking over the steps. Just as they’re at the bottom, Angela grabs Jamie by the front of his jacket, having to use more strength than she thought to pull him against her. He gives a surprised _oof._

“It means that she thinks you’re dangerous,” Angela says. “And so do I.”

Jamie’s eyes go wide when she grins up at him, only to sharpen into a look so sinister it sends a chill down her spine.

“Oh yeah? Scared of me, are ya?” he asks, quietly, amused by this.

“Very,” Angela says. “I’m trembling just looking at you.”

Jamie laughs, a low, deep sound that makes her body thrum, and she gasps when her back suddenly meets the wall, pinned by him once again.

“That ain’t trembling,” he murmurs, close to her lips.

“It—it's not?”

“Nah, not one bit.” Jamie leans in, close to her ear now instead. “But I'd just love to make you  _really_ tremble, Angie. Be dead easy to, y'know."

It’s a dark promise, one that envelops her body in fire, and he swoops down to kiss her, something harder and hungrier than the others they’ve had so far. Angela grips his jacket, loving his aggressive tongue in her mouth and hating that soon this is all going to be over. She feels like she’s being ridiculous for even considering returning home tonight. Isn’t even sure she’s looking forward to the goodbye kiss anymore, dreading getting on that stupid train back to Bucks on her own. But how can she go with him? They haven’t even been on their date yet. She can’t rush this, not when it’s only just begun.

“Jamie,” Angela gasps, when they break. He just grins at her.

“Best get you on your way,” he says smugly, tugging her hand as he turns.

Somehow they make it onto the train. It’s relatively quiet, some suits and tourists taking up a few of the seats. Jamie pulls her into the corner of the carriage when they’re on, standing up and shielding her from the other passengers with his long body and broad back. Angela keeps her arms under his jacket and around his waist to stay steady as the train departs, enjoying the warmth of his body, the softness of his jumper. Jamie’s holding the pole overhead, human arm around her shoulders, glancing around like he wants to make sure they’re safe.

“You seem to enjoy trapping me like this,” Angela says, regaining his attention. Jamie smirks down at her.

“Just being _protective._ Y’know, that thing you _strongly implied_   I’m not!”

Angela laughs. “You know I wasn’t trying to say that. I doubt I’ll ever forget what you did in Japan for as long as I live.”

Jamie’s smirk softens.

“Oh,” he says, as though he’s a bit shocked to hear this. Angela goes up on her toes, and it’s just about enough for her to almost reach his mouth.

“So don’t worry,” she says, gently. “I’ll never feel safer than when I’m with you.”

Jamie looks at her for a long moment. Angela swears she can see something change in his eyes, a subtle shift in amber, but she can’t tell what it is, exactly. She can feel it in his arm, though, the one around her shoulder that tightens, draws her against him, under his chin.

“Someone’s gotta look out for ya,” Jamie mutters, above her head. Angela grins to herself, clinging onto him while the train rattles around them. Somehow she suspects he isn’t nearly as huffy about this as he sounds.

As she feared, there are only a few stops before the line branches off for their respective stops. Angela has to drum up every ounce of willpower she’s got to exit the train at her connecting platform, her grip on Jamie’s metal hand tight when she pulls him off with her. The platform she needs is across from this one, but there’re several corridors leading to other exits which are suitably tucked away. She pulls him into one of them, another private corner, and then they’re kissing again, quickly, knowing they’re running out of time. Jamie pins her with his body like he’s craving her even now, holding like he doesn’t want to let her go. She hopes he won’t.

“I—I don’t want to say goodbye,” Angela says, when they finally break for air. Her lipstick is smudged over his mouth again.

“Then don’t,” Jamie says, words firm, eyes pleading. “Come home with me. S’nothing stopping ya. I’ve already toldja we won’t do anything y’don’t want!”

“I… Jamie,” Angela says, looking to the wall, the floor. She chews her lip.

“Alright alright,” Jamie says hurriedly, holding her by the shoulders. “Okay, look, just. If you’re this nervous about it, let’s meet up tomorrow. Or—Sunday! Sometime this weekend, yeah? Sound good?”

He’s smiling hopefully at her, but she can see that he’s disappointed. She’s disappointed, too, knows she’s letting both of them down.

"That—yes, tomorrow would be good,” Angela says, nodding. Her eyes are prickling. Why is she doing this?

“Right,” Jamie says, resolute. “Then I’ll text you. Tomorrow. Soon as I'm up! And we can—I dunno, meet here, or you can come to mine. Anywhere, just—doesn't fucking matter where it is, s'long as I get to see you again."

"God," Angela says, grimacing, willing herself not to cry. Jamie squeezes her shoulders, looking panicked.

"Hey hey hey! No tears, alright? S'no big deal, I promise! One more day won't hurt, right?"  
  
"Right," Angela says, swallowing down her tears. Jamie smiles, rubbing her shoulders to reassure her. She manages a weak smile back.   
  
"So tomorrow then, yeah?"

"Yes, tomorrow."  
  
"Brilliant!" he says, beaming. "Then it's settled. I'll be seeing  _you_ tomorrow. Y’never know, we might go on that bloody date after all at this rate!”

They laugh, even though Angela is a hair’s breadth from crying, and then they’re kissing again, their last one. It’s sweet and slow, just his lips on hers.

“Sure you’ll be alright from here?” Jamie asks, hands lingering on her waist and his eyes holding hers. Angela nods. The need to cry has ebbed now that they’ve got concrete plans.

“Yes, honestly. Thank you so much for coming this far.”

“C’mon, Angie,” he says, softly. “Don’t hafta thank me. Just text me later, alright? Let me know you're home safe.”

“Of course,” she says, and then that’s it, he’s letting go of her, saying goodbye and walking away.

Angela steps out of the corridor feeling numb. She stands alone on the platform, waiting for the train, and stares blindly at the advertisement on the concave wall opposite. Logically speaking, this is the right thing to do. She doesn’t have any overnight things with her, no change of clothes. It makes sense to go home.

The train rolls in, and Angela grimaces at it, at herself. They haven’t been on the date, it’s true, but they’ve also already kissed, and they’ve spent the last however many months clearly wanting one another. Is she really going to live the rest of her life like this? In stolen moments, constantly shared by everyone else? It’s as though everything good that happens is in the middle of something else, like she can’t allow herself any privacy, any real time with anyone outside work. There’ve been so many barriers in all this time, but the only thing between them now is…

What on earth is she doing?

Angela turns and runs back across the platform. The train has pulled in on the other side. She can see him there, stepping on.

“Jamie!” she calls, rushing over, but the doors are already closing. Jamie turns sharply when he hears her, and Angela jumps back when he immediately throws his metal arm out, frightening the other people standing inside the train. There’s a heavy _chnk_ as the automated doors jam around it.  
  
Then they open up again, nothing but a single step between them. Jamie laughs, extending his human hand out to her.

“There’s gotta be an easier way of doing this,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. He’s grinning, though. “Gonna need a new arm soon!”

“Sorry,” Angela says, taking his outstretched hand. Then she’s stepping up, back onto the train with him, pulled into his arms.

 _Finally_ , Angela thinks, smiling as Jamie tucks her back under his chin and the train doors close behind them.

 

 

 *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY INDEED, MERCY.
> 
> Massive huge thanks to Muppet for incredible betaing AS USUAL, and to [Sneepy](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) for her constant motivation. I've gotten so many comments and asks about this fic, a fic rec by [AngelaSupport](https://angelasupport.tumblr.com/) and so much fanart I could CRY. My mind is blown by all of this and thank you is not nearly enough. But I really, really mean it!! Thank you so much for just... everything!!!
> 
> ALSO, for anyone who hasn’t read it, I wrote a sidefic to accompany the main story - a day from Junkrat’s perspective, set between chapters 6 and 7 when Mercy is in Japan. [Please check it out if you’re curious to have a glimpse into Junkrat’s head!!!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470075)
> 
> Chapter 11 coming soon and WILL BE MAKING GOOD USE OF THE EXPLICIT RATING!!!!!!! WOHOOOOOOO


	11. Passenger

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really… _reeaally_ sure?”

Angela nods. She’s still catching her breath, heart hammering in her chest from having almost missed him, but she _is_ sure. It’s quite possible she’s never been surer about anything now that she’s standing here, on this train, with him.

“I really am,” she says, gazing up at Jamie with a shy smile.

Her face is cupped in his hands and he’s looking down at her with hopeful eyes. But the grin that breaks out across Jamie’s lips when she says this—the way he brightens like he can’t honestly believe his luck—is what makes Angela certain that going home with him tonight is absolutely, unquestionably, the right thing to do.

“Fucking hell,” he says, gently. His sweet cuss makes her laugh, a light and breathless sound, and then he’s bringing her forwards, swooping down to kiss her right here in the middle of the carriage. It’s brief but firm, a promise he’s stealing from her that’s left smudged over his mouth in lipstick when he pulls away. Angela reaches up to brush the pad of her thumb over his lips to rub some of it away. Jamie seems to melt at it, the softness of his amber eyes warming her to the core.

“Can’t believe it." Jamie laughs, runs his human hand through his hair. “Never thought you’d really say yes. I mean—that you'd wanna come with me.”

“Of course I do. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long,” she says, because she is. Angela can hardly blame Jamie for needing this much reassurance when she came so close to leaving him just now and they’ve spent all this time dancing around one another, living through stolen moments via texts and on trains. Her eyes fall to the floor, but Jamie's metal thumb brushes beneath her chin, tipping until she's looking at him again.

“Don’t need to be sorry," he says. "S’not your fault.”

It partly is. Not entirely, however, and she’s relieved that he understands, hasn’t made her feel bad for the time it’s taken them to reach this point. Angela reaches up to cup his face because now it’s her turn to bring him down and kiss him back, something longer but softer, her own way of telling him how much she wants him. Jamie makes a quiet sound against her like this was the final thing he needed to be sure, too, and she releases his face to slide her arms around his torso instead, beneath his jacket but over his jumper, pulling him close. Jamie curves his human arm around her back in kind, metal hand holding the pole overhead to keep them steady as the train rattles around them, and it frightens Angela to think that this could’ve easily gone the other way. That she could’ve been sitting alone yet again on her way out of London rather than standing here kissing him, on their way back to his house.

“It feels like I’m dreaming this,” she says, whispering over his lips when they part. She’s balanced up on her toes to reach him, head tipped back from their kiss. Jamie presses his forehead to hers.

“Think we’ve both done enough of that. I sure as fuck have."

Angela closes her eyes, remembering all those nights when she really did dream about this, when sharing any kind of closeness with him was all she could think about. Now that they’re finally here her heart won't stop fluttering. Some it’s the adrenaline from her rush to catch him, but mostly it’s nerves, the good kind, the excited anticipation of what’s to come this evening and what it’s going to be like with him. The last time Angela was intimate with anyone who truly meant something to her was back in college, years ago now, her first love. Thinking of how long it’s been makes her nervous, but not terribly so, not when she’s waited this long to be with him. When she opens her eyes Jamie is biting his lip around a huge grin like he still can’t believe this is real, either, a perfect reflection of her own grateful shock. Angela never, ever imagined this happening when she left her house this morning. Isn’t sure she ever imagined it happening at all, really.

Jamie bends down to kiss her, grounding her back in reality, and then he kisses her again, and again, long kisses that last through several stations with a handful of people coming and going around them on this quiet train through central London. His arm is tight around her waist like there’s still a part of him that’s scared she’s going to leave him again, and it’s enough to let her know that he might be a little nervous about this, too, despite his bravado, his aggressive confidence in the cloakroom. In the midst of their kissing Jamie somehow steers them onto their final train of the evening, and relief blooms in Angela’s chest now that they’re on the one that’s taking her somewhere private with him, away from everybody else.

“Not long now,” he says quietly, when his arm is back around her waist. He’s gazing down at her, looking hopeful again. “Still sure about coming back with me?”

Angela’s eyes flit over Jamie’s handsome face, all sharp angles and sweet freckles. She hasn’t kissed the mole on his nose yet, either, makes a mental note to do so later when she doesn’t have to share him with the rest of the carriage.

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than here with you right now,” she admits, smiling.

“Fuck,” Jamie says, an exhaled laugh. He looks away to the ceiling, the windows. “Holy shit.”

He seems overwhelmed, still doesn’t look at her even when she strokes her thumb over his cheek. He’s grinning when he gives her a little squeeze, though, and Angela cuddles in close to his chest, ecstatic that her honesty has somehow been enough to render Jamie—render _Junkrat—_ speechless.

The carriage curves and jolts around them, and Jamie holds her close to stop them from swaying too much. She peers up to watch him stare out of the carriage windows, head tilted in such a way that highlights his jawline and exposes some of the smaller moles dotted over his neck. Heat pools inside her wondering how many others he has on his body, the parts she hasn’t seen yet, and Angela spreads her palm over his chest, wanting to feel the muscle she knows is hidden beneath soft fabric.

Holding onto one another, it seems impossible that they could be any physically closer than they are right now. But they can, they can be much, much closer than this, and far sooner than she ever thought they could be, too. Jamie demonstrated that well enough at the party, all carnal power when he hoisted her up and crushed his body against hers. The train hits a particularly hard bend, and Angela clings onto him, feeling the flex of his core muscles tensing to keep them steady. The sheer strength he displays in such a simple movement is exhilarating, physical proof that his alluring threat of making her tremble wasn’t unfounded, and a hint of what she’s so sure she has to look forward to tonight. If he’s going to continue to indulge her as he has so far, that is.

“Jamie,” she says, tugging on his jumper to get his attention. He glances down to her where he’d been watching the underground pass them by, eyes lowered when they meet hers.

“Yeah?”

They haven’t explicitly acknowledged where this evening is leading them yet. Jamie said they didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want. She trusts completely that he means it, but Angela knows what she wants, and thinks she's ready for him to know, too.

“As I’m coming home with you now, will it mean that I get to wake up next to you tomorrow?” she asks, face hot from saying something like this out loud.  
  
For a moment he’s quiet, just looks at her. Then he dips down below her ear.

“Oh? Wanna wake up next to me now, do ya?” Jamie says, murmuring. She squirms from the tickle of his breath on her skin.

“I—I do.”

Jamie’s arm loosens from around her waist until his hand slides lower, over the small of her back.

“That’d mean sharing a bed,” he says, pushing her hips forward, flush against his. Angela shivers, pleased that he knows exactly what she’s saying even though they’re dancing once again. How did she ever even consider going home without him tonight?

“It—yes, it would.”

“Well, Angie, my bed’s all yours,” Jamie says. “But y’know, as y'seemed so nervous about it, I was gonna be a gentleman and take the couch.”

“Oh.” She's caught off guard by this. Angela is reasonably sure he’s teasing, but her disappointment from hearing that Jamie was planning on being a gentleman is alarming nonetheless.

“Yeah,” Jamie says. She can feel that he’s grinning, the pull of his lips on her skin. “Can’t scare you away now, can I?”

He presses their hips together again and Angela’s stomach knots, heat pooling inside it.  She grips at the fabric covering his chest.

“What if I get cold by myself?” she asks, tilting her head to brush her cheek against his. Jamie’s hand slides lower, over her ass. It’s electrifying even though she’s still wearing her coat, and when he squeezes slightly she whimpers, the first time he’s ever touched her there.

“Don’t worry,” he says, with just a touch of amusement. “I’m _sure_ we’ll figure out some way of keeping ya nice and warm.”

The promise in this sends a tremor down her spine, heat in her belly spiking into something much hotter from the smug look on Jamie's face when he pulls away. The announcement for their stop rings out above them, and then the train slows to a halt, bringing her out of tonight and back into the present, right now.

“Ready?” Jamie asks, when the train doors open up behind them. He’s smirking but his eyes are intense on hers, searching for any doubt. As jittery as she’s feeling, Angela knows he won’t find any, and she smiles up at him without hesitation.

“Absolutely."

“Good,” Jamie says, before lowering his voice and adding, “’cause I wasn’t gonna letcha go now anyway.”

Angela laughs, thrilled by his possessiveness, and then he’s tugging her out of the underground and back into the cold air outside, human fingers laced in hers as he leads her down the road.

There’s a supermarket along the way. For all of Angela’s delighted disbelief that they’re about to be alone together, being with Jamie in an unfamiliar place suddenly makes everything much realer than it was on the train or in the cloakroom. If this is really going to happen she needs to be fully comfortable and prepared, so she asks if they can go inside for what will hopefully be their final detour of the night. Angela grabs a toothbrush and some makeup removing facewipes and then they’re walking past family planning, her intended location. Jamie’s poking at his phone when she reaches out to give his jacket a little tug. He smiles at her obliviously, putting it back in his pocket.

“Got whatcha want?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, tipping her head towards the boxes of condoms beside her. “Is there anything else I need to pick up?”

Jamie’s eyebrows arch up when he glances from the shelf back to her. Angela smiles coyly at him.

“Uh.” He pauses, takes a breath. Then he reaches out, metal fingers knocking over a couple of boxes before plucking one from the shelf.

“Nope!” Jamie says, a bit too loudly. He’s grinning, eyes wide like he’s in very a happy state of shock. “I, uh. Think we’re good now!”

Angela is amazed that they’ve somehow managed to dance their way even through this, enjoying the way his blush lingers when she offers to put the box in her carrier bag once they’ve paid. If her hopes for the evening and sincerity in wanting him weren’t overtly clear before, she’s quite certain they will be now.

Jamie takes her hand again when they leave the store. He’s unusually quiet on their brief journey home, which Angela takes to mean he’s either thinking, nervous, or both. She’s too giddy to feel anxious as they get closer, pace brisk to match the beating of her heart. What’s his house going to be like? His bedroom? She never allowed herself to wonder too much on it—never thought she’d end up anywhere near it—but she has a reasonably good idea of what to expect, knowing him like she does. Jamie’s bedroom is probably going to be quite a literal bombsite if it’s anything like his workstation. It’ll take much more than a bit of mess to dampen her excitement, though, the carrier bag with her overnight essentials gently bumping her leg as a constant reminder of what’s waiting when they arrive.

The inevitable thought that follows is what Jamie’s going to be like when they’re actually _in_ his bedroom, and more importantly, what she’ll be like with him. He seems terribly confident based on their rendezvous in the cloakroom, but Angela is familiar enough with her body to know what she’ll need to get off and what her limitations are. Her ex-boyfriend mostly knew what he was doing but that was years ago, a relationship spanning several years at university where they sort of learned together. It wasn’t sex she’d necessarily wanted to shout about at the time, but she’d loved him, and that had been enough. She’ll just need to keep her expectations realistic tonight, taking into account how daunting it is being with someone new for the first time.

Angela actually thought she’d be more worried about this aspect of going home with Jamie, but she isn’t, really, not when he’s managed to impress her with everything else he’s ever done in all the time she’s known him. In the highly unlikely event that all Jamie wants to do is kiss and cuddle in bed, she'd be just as happy with that as she would having full blown sex. All Angela is truly fussed about is sharing intimacy with him, regardless of what form that intimacy takes.

It feels like they turn a couple of corners, pass along a row of terraced houses and all at once Jamie is pulling out his keys. The jingle of them in his hand is a far more thrilling sound than it has any right to be, and then he’s unlocking the front door, pushing it open.

“Ladies first!” he says, and Angela smiles at the way his eyes follow her when she brushes past and steps inside. Jamie flicks the landing light on. A variety of worn shoes are scattered across the floor and there are some jackets lined up along the wall, huge ones that must belong to Roadhog. Angela unbelts her coat, Jamie hovering beside her to take it and hang it up with his, and she’s just able to slip her heels off before she yelps out in shock, her back quite suddenly meeting the wall.

Jamie has pinned her again, but he’s holding her wrists either side of her shoulders this time.

“Hope there wasn’t anywhere else you wanted to go,” he says, a dark and quiet breath against her lips. Her belly squirms unbearably. “’Cause I’m gonna lock this door now, Angie, and you ain’t going _nowhere_ ‘til we’ve gone through that entire. Fucking. Box.”

His pelvis is pressed into hers and she can feel that he’s hard again, an insistent bump pushed against her stomach. Well. Apparently he wasn’t nervous after all.

“How, um.” Angela swallows. “How many are in there?”

Jamie’s eyes narrow. The grin on his face is wicked, verging on nasty, and the effect it’s having on her body—the pulse it sends between her legs—is frightening.

“Twenty,” he says, grinding his hips. She almost moans from it but holds it in her throat, wanting to meet his fire head on, prove that she doesn’t want to dance anymore.

“Gosh,” Angela says, leaning forwards so that her lips brush over his. “Then you should probably take me to bed so that we can get started, shouldn’t you?”

Jamie’s eyes widen for a split second. He releases her to lock the front door, making good on his word, and then he’s tugging her through the house and up the stairs. She’s flustered when they reach the top, heart pounding now that they’re here after months of endless waltzing. He pulls her over to one of the closed doors, opens it, but when Angela moves to go inside with him he halts, turning and facing her with a panicked smile.

“Okay uh, I’ve just gotta—gimme two seconds,” Jamie says, grabbing her shoulders. “Just TWO seconds, and I’ll be right back!”

Angela doesn’t have time to answer – he pecks her on the lips and then disappears inside, slamming the door shut behind him. She’s about to ask what’s going on when she can hear the immediate creaking of something inside—a wardrobe?—followed by a flurry of clanging, scraping, and what sounds very much like cutlery on china. It isn’t quite two seconds, but Angela fishes to get her phone from her bag just as the door opens up again, and Jamie falls against the frame looking like he’s been blown out of a wind tunnel. Then he exhales, straightens up, and smirks at her, all confidence again.

“Get that sweet fuckin’ arse of yours in here!” he says, grabbing her hand and yanking her inside. Angela giggles, going willingly, and just like that—it’s real. She’s in Jamie’s bedroom.

The bedside lamp is on but the blinds are drawn and the walls are dark. Her immediate observation is that it’s suspiciously tidy in here. There are plenty of – things, trinkets, spread across his desk and on shelves lining the walls. An enormous tire is leaned against the window. His bed is big and unmade, just two squashed pillows and a whisked duvet from where she can imagine him stumbling out of bed this morning.

The door closes behind her, drawing her attention around to him. Jamie’s eyes are smouldering when he steps over to her. She turns to face him properly, heart high in her throat and racing. He stops right in front of her, not touching her, not yet. It’s just them now, nobody else.

“So this is where you’re going to keep me trapped, is it?” she asks. Angela wants to grab his jumper and kiss him, but this is it, their last dance, so she doesn’t. Jamie laughs, touch light when he reaches out to hold her hips.

“Too fucking right it is,” he says, darkly. His eyes flit over her body like a predator sizing up its prey. “No leaving allowed. Not ‘til I say so.”

Angela hums, a softly amused sound even though it’s a threat that burns right between her legs. He prickles up when she laces her hands over his chest.

“Who says I want to leave at all?” she says, whispering.

Jamie tugs her body close and crushes his mouth against hers, kissing her forcefully, angrily. Angela clutches his chest, arms squeezed in where he’s brought her forward, and tries desperately to match his ferocity only to yelp when he pushes her down on his bed, mattress soft and springy beneath her. She draws up to rest on her elbows and watch Jamie tug his jumper off, admiring the body she was so used to seeing in training that seems brand new to her now that they’re not in work. His abs are just as impressive as she remembered, chest as broad as it’s felt every time she’s been cuddled in against it, and she grins at all his bare skin on display even though it’s a little saddening to see that he’s lost some of his tan. He’s surprisingly clean, at least - probably bathed especially for the party.

Jamie braces his right knee on the bed like he’s about to climb onto it and crawl over her. Angela shifts back to make room for him, but she’s surprised to watch him bend down to disengage his right leg instead. It hits the floor with a heavy clatter. Oh, she thinks, smiling at the scarring on Jamie’s right thigh. Seeing him without his prosthetic leg is humbling, like he’s comfortable enough to strip off in front of her in more ways than just taking off his clothes. Then she’s watching him unbuckle his shorts, pushing those off as well.

Jamie frowns at her, hands on his hips when he straightens up.

“Wish you wouldn’t tease me saying shit like that,” he huffs.

“You think I’m teasing you when I say I don’t want to leave?” she asks. Her stomach curls when he climbs on with her only wearing his boxers, a state of undress she’s never seen him in before. His cock is strained against them, clearly visible, and it makes her hot all over, wanting to touch it, touch him.

“Still clothed, aren’t ya?” Jamie says, creeping up to her. He’s grinning. “Think it’s time to start showin’ me you mean all these lovely things you say, sweetheart.”

Oh, _that’s_ new.

“I suppose so,” Angela sighs, but she’s grinning too, can’t pretend she isn’t eager for this. She pulls off her jumper and is privately grateful that she picked out some half-decent lingerie this morning. It isn’t matching – the bra is black and the thong is red – but it’s much better than the skin-toned bra and white panties she’s so accustomed to throwing on every day. Jamie gives an appreciative purr now that she’s partly exposed, and when she raises her hips to push her skirt off he grabs it for her, wrenching it down over her legs and tossing it off the bed.

“Oohh, yes, _now_   we’re getting somewhere!” His eyes are hungry, roaming all over her. “Mmmh. Fuckin’ _gorgeous_ , you are.”

Well, he hasn’t left any room for self-consciousness. Angela can feel herself blushing anyway. He’s called her gorgeous many times before but mostly through text, and never when so much of her skin has been on display.

“Gonna let all that silky hair down for me too?” Jamie asks, coming closer, prowling. Angela chuckles, reaching around to pull the band out.

“You certainly know what you want, don’t you?”

He _mmhs_ his approval as her hair falls around her shoulders. Jamie’s hair is more tousled than usual from where he pulled off his jumper, but she keeps glancing down to his dick, so obviously hard in his boxers.

“Had long enough to think about it,” he says. For a moment he seems to soften, reaches out to run his human fingers through a few stray locks of her hair. Angela’s chest constricts at how inconceivably sweet it is that he’s doing something so tender in the middle of making out.

Then he pushes her shoulders so her back hits the mattress, and once he’s straddling her Jamie bends down to drive his tongue into her mouth, ravenous as he tastes her again. His human hand is warm but his metal one is cold where they’ve been outside when he goes to touch her newly exposed skin, and she jerks out of the kiss with a surprised gasp at the chilling press of his hand on her waist.

“What is it?” Jamie asks, snapping back in alarm.

“It’s—nothing, just how cold your arm is,” Angela laughs, embarrassed when she smiles up at him. She imagined his hand would be cool when she fantasised about this but she wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of it.

“Shit, forgot to warm it up,” he mutters, scowling at it. He grins back at her, though. “Want me to take it off?”

Jamie reaches up to stroke her cheek with his human hand.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he says.

Angela tilts her head into his touch, chest tightening once again at his sudden sweetness when they’re half-naked in his bed.

“You won’t hurt me. I don’t mind either way,” she says, before adding, very softly, “I just want you, really.”

She gazes up at him, feeling shy from telling him this even though it’s true. Jamie’s eyes go wide, and a frown flickers over his face like he could possibly, bizarrely, be upset by it. Angela takes a breath ready to ask if this was perhaps the wrong thing to say, but he growls into her neck before she can, using his body to pin her firmly to the bed.

Oh, this, _this_ is what she’s been dreaming of. Jamie’s teeth and tongue scrape over her neck like he wants to devour her, and Angela wraps her arms around his chest to keep him pressed close, his body a deliciously strong weight on hers. She spreads her legs to accommodate him and when Jamie grinds his erection between them it’s the closest they’ve ever been, makes Angela moan out over his shoulder, impossibly turned on from the solid press of his cock between her legs. Now that he’s shirtless with so much of his skin on hers the familiar scent of diesel is intoxicating, as rugged and dirty as the rest of him, and she feels like she’s drowning beneath him, his hands hot and cold all over her. He moves up from her neck to kiss her mouth again. Jamie’s tongue is so aggressive that his kisses in the cloakroom seem timid by comparison, and by the time he pulls back she has to pant for breath, lips parted and wet.

“Already makin’ a mess of ya and we’ve only just started,” he says, running a metal finger over the moisture left on her lower lip. “Wonder how much of a mess y’are down here?”

He brings his left knee up between her legs, pushing just enough to make Angela squirm. It's what she suspected, but it's still a relief that Jamie clearly does have more than just kissing and cuddling on their agenda for this evening.

“Maybe you should find out,” she suggests, trying to maintain some semblance of composure even though she’s breathless from the thought of him actually touching her down there. Jamie laughs.

“Can’t say no to an offer like that.”

He moves so he’s leaning over her, pressed in by her side, and Angela rests her hands on his shoulders, enjoying the warmth of his bare skin. Jamie's human hand skates over her thigh, then upwards, between her legs. She shivers, the knuckles of his fingers delicate when they brush the front of her thong. Angela is quite aware of the effect he’s had on her from what they’ve been doing up until this point, and whimpers when he rubs the pad of his thumb over her, pressing damp lace into her skin.

“Shit, you are wet,” Jamie says, sounding surprised. He applies more pressure, enough to gently part the soft flesh down there, and Angela writhes beneath him, sighing. After all this time dreaming about it, finally being touched by him feels utterly wonderful.

“Y’like that?” he asks, leaning down to kiss her neck. It’s wonderful, but it’s also still only through her underwear, and Angela is slightly embarrassed that she’s this wet already.

“It’s—good, yes, but—it could be better,” she says, more breathily than she’d like.

“Ohh, it could now, could it?” Jamie says, amused. He’s kneading so gently that it’s torturous, has her arching into him for more.

“Jamie,” she says, biting her lip. He laughs, rubbing only a little firmer, lace slick as it slides over her flesh.

“That better for ya?” Jamie leers, knowing it’s not. Angela whines, reaching around to paw the smooth skin of his back and feel the tough muscle beneath. She supposes she deserves this for all the dancing they’ve done but it’s agony being teased, dripfed pleasure when it’s been so long since she was touched.

“Please,” she says, eyes pleading as she looks up into his. Jamie’s hand stills and he leans down to kiss her mouth, a soft apology for teasing.

“Alright,” he says, when he pulls back. “Won’t make ya beg just yet.”

That yet is awfully promising, but Angela is distracted when he nudges the fabric aside so that they’re finally flesh on flesh.  She can hear how wet she is when he slides his fingers over her and whimpers, squirming against him.

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” Jamie says, impressed now. The wet sound it’s making is so lewd and arousing that Angela tilts her head away from him, almost wanting to hide from it. Jamie doesn’t let her, though, delicately bringing her back to face him with his metal thumb and forefinger on her chin.

“Doesn’t take much, does it, Angie?” he says, smugly. “Haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I don’t know about that,” she breathes. He’s still touching her gently, exploring. “Wouldn’t you say that— _nnhh—_ the last several months have constituted foreplay?”

“Hah! Yeah, good point." Jamie pauses on a thoughtful hum. “If it’s made ya like this though, I ain’t complainin’.”

He brushes his fingertips over her clit and Angela grips his back, stifling a moan against his lips as he kisses her again. Direct stimulation there after such a long time without is almost too much, but she’s so starved that she automatically raises her hips into it for more. Jamie slips a finger inside her, snickering when she gasps against his mouth.

“Oh god,” Angela says. His finger curls and her body seizes, instinctively afraid that he’s going to be rough.

“Woah, where’s all this tension come from?” Jamie says, frowning. He starts stroking inside her. “Think we need to get you off, loosen you up a bit.”

She pants out a laugh. It’s a well-meaning offer, but Angela knows he won’t be able to make her come from this sort of penetration alone. Even her ex used to struggle.

“I— _ah—_ don’t think I can,” she says, though she has to admit it feels better than she thought it would when he keeps stroking like that, a come hither motion that’s different to how it’s been done before. He’s gentler than she was expecting, too.

“Huh. Shame, that.” Jamie presses a few kisses beneath her ear. “Want me to stop?”

The kisses have her squirming, but the yes please she was prepared to say dies in her throat when he grazes his palm over her clit, breaking into a soft moan instead.

“It’s… no, it’s okay,” she says, eyes closing.

“Mmh,” he says, a deep hum against her skin. She can hear him frowning. “ _Just_ okay?”

Jamie keeps stroking in the same gentle rhythm, rubbing his palm in just the right spot, and it’s… it’s starting to feel very, very nice, actually.

“Good,” she says, eyes fluttering open at the feel of his forehead pressed on hers. “Really good.”

“Thought so,” he says. “Been a while, has it?”

It has. Angela doesn’t feel so embarrassed about it when Jamie smiles softly at her like that, though. Something about his question seems hopeful, but she’s probably just imagining it, wishful thinking now that he’s making her feel so good.

“You know it has,” she admits, as it's probably obvious to him anyway. Angela thinks this is what he wanted to hear but Jamie hides his reaction by nuzzling into her neck. He kisses there, finger sliding in and out of her now and making more of those lewd wet sounds. Jamie is surprisingly good at this, enough for her to have the vague thought that he might’ve done it lots of times before. It’s worrying that this tugs so unpleasantly at her stomach—why wouldn’t he, and what does it matter even if he has?—but he’s not allowing her to get too lost in wondering how many, working his palm over her clit as a blissful distraction.

“Just relax,” Jamie says, almost like he can hear her worrying. “S’no time limit, no deadline. M'not gonna rush ya through it. Just wanna make ya feel good."

"You—you are," Angela says, breath coming faster. She wants to savour and appreciate this uncharacteristic patience from him but she’s feeling hot now, frustrated that she's still wearing her lingerie when her skin could be flush on his. The familiar build of pleasure has her thighs squeezing together around his hand, muscles beginning to tense around him, but it isn’t until Jamie’s tongue laps from her neck up to her earlobe that Angela suddenly realises she’s somehow on the verge of coming from this.

“Oh, god,” she says again, nails scraping over his back for some kind of purchase from the alarming prospect of his hand being enough to get her off. “Jamie, I—”

“What? What is it?” he asks, knowing full well what it is, she can hear in his goading tone.

“If—if you keep—”

“Keep what? Doing this?” he says, hilting his finger and grinding his palm over her clit. “C’mon, Angie, surely you’re not gonna come for me _that_ easily, are ya?”

The goading is apparently enough. Angela clenches around him, moaning out as she comes, inexplicably, just from this, and Jamie strokes her through it with a laugh that almost seems mocking. Her first proper orgasm in weeks, draining away some of the tension she’s been holding onto for so much longer than that, and it’s… it’s from _this_. Has he really just… and that easily?

“S’that all it takes?” he scoffs, apparently in line with her thinking. “Thoughtcha said y’couldn’t come from being fingerfucked!”

“ _Jamie_.” She buries her face into the nook of his shoulder, only marginally ashamed that his crudeness is such a turn on. Angela can’t stop smiling, breathing fast and shivering all over from coming. To think he’s already managed to tease an orgasm out of her—as though it was nothing. Normally takes far longer than that. Body must’ve needed it, she thinks, trying to rationalise how simple that was for him. It really has been too long.

Angela needs a moment to collect herself. Jamie withdraws, leaving her empty, aching to be touched again now that she’s already come once. She watches him bring his fingers to his lips and immediately worries about how she’ll taste, seeing as she hasn't been able to shower before they started this. Jamie seems satisfied, though, enough to suck his fingers clean.

“Mmmmh. Been gagging for some of that,” he says. Angela smiles uncertainly.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Jamie smirks. “Swiss pussy.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” she laughs, cringing and pushing his shoulders when he tries to kiss her on the mouth. After a few half-hearted attempts to pry him off Jamie ends their little playfight by grabbing her wrists and pinning her again.

“Wanna fuckin’ touch you all over now though,” he says, voice low and deep. Jamie forces his mouth on hers and grinds over her, a firm reminder that his cock is still hard in his boxers, and she rolls her body to meet his, enjoying the way he groans into her mouth when she does.

“I – I want to touch you too,” Angela says, breaking out of the kiss. Jamie’s eyes are lidded, amber warmed by lamplight as he gazes down at her.

“Yeah? Where?"

"Everywhere," Angela says, though she's looking between his legs, at the wet patch where precome has leaked in his boxers.

"Then why don’tcha?" he says, noticing her looking. "S’all yours, y'know.”

Unbelievably, she thinks, elated that he’s said something like that. Jamie lifts off her body so she can brush her hands down over his chest and abs, loving the smoothness of his skin and the tautness of his muscle as he flexes under her touch. She goes lower, past the thin trail of blond hair down from his navel to catch the band of his boxers. Jamie curves his hips forward to help her, and then she’s pulling them down, exposing his cock. It’s thick and uncut, looks heavy and slightly curved where it’s hanging hard between his legs. She’s seen plenty of them in her life—mostly, admittedly, in clinical settings—but it’s especially exciting to see his after spending so long fantasising about him. As Angela thought, there are a few dark freckles dotted over his foreskin and a mole she hasn't seen before low on his abdomen. Something to kiss later on, perhaps.

“Like it?” Jamie asks, quietly. She can feel him watching her, waiting for her answer, but she can’t stop staring at him, wanting to drink in the sight it. He grunts when she reaches down to grasp the shaft, having never held an uncut dick before. Angela is pleased by the thickness, the weight of him in her hand.

“Mmm,” she affirms, letting him hear that she is. Jamie pulls his boxers further down and her eyes widen, pleased to see that he’s proportional to his height, too.

“Gosh,” Angela says. He’s not huge, would be intimidating if he was, but there’s certainly enough to make heat throb between her legs. His cock pulses too, a slight twitch in her hand, and when she dares to give it a squeeze he makes a frustrated sound, brows drawing together.

“Fuck,” Jamie says, voice thicker than it was a moment ago. Angela bites her lip, trying not to grin.

“Hmm.” She slides her palm up and down the length, tilting her head like she’s assessing whether or not he’s acceptable. She’s being delicate on purpose, just firm enough to pump precome from the tip and watch it leak out over the head. Jamie’s muscles tense, a ripple she can see in his biceps where he’s holding himself up over her.

“Yes,” she sighs, just holding him now, not stroking. “I think this will do.”

“It best had,” Jamie says. His grin is sharp, eyes narrowed and dangerous where he’s looking down at her. "Seeing as it's what you're gonna get."

Angela tips her head back, a dismissive motion to flip some of her hair over her shoulder. It’s been a long, long time since she was intimate with anyone, but she’s certain she knows exactly what Jamie is capable of seeing as he’s managed to impress her yet again in bed just now. If she’d been with anyone else she’d want more preparation before even considering going any further. But she isn’t, she’s with Jamie. So she doesn’t.

Instead, Angela grins up at him, ready to be sentenced to whatever punishment she’s about to subject herself to.

“Oh? You say that like you’re going to fuck me,” she says, airily. “So, are you? Or do I have to wait another five months for that?”

Jamie actually sputters at this, something that seems half shocked, half incensed. Her desired reaction. Then he remembers himself and all at once he’s wolfish, frighteningly so. Angela knows better than to be truly frightened by him, though. This is precisely what she wanted.

“Fucking come here,” he snarls, dragging her back up off the mattress and crushing her mouth against his. Angela scrambles to unclasp her bra while their lips and tongues clash, all slick sounds as they meet and part, and when her breasts are free Jamie tugs off his boxers completely, shoving her back down on the bed now that he’s fully naked.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for being such a cocktease, Angela,” he says, a sneer made threatening by the way his body towers over hers. Angela writhes beneath him, still wanting to tease him, as he makes it so fun.

“Enough for you to use my full name?” she asks, smirking at him. “Now I really am scared.”

She yelps when Jamie manhandles her hips, angling them up so he can yank her thong down and off her legs, leaving her naked too. It’s alarming that his aggression might be enough to leave bruises from where he’s being so rough with his metal hand, but what’s even more alarming is that she sort of hopes it will, wanting to be marked by him, imprinted by his lust.

“Y’should be scared,” Jamie says, grabbing her thighs and pulling them apart. His eyes rake over her like he’s looking at his next meal. “’Cause you’re not gonna be able to move offa this fucking bed by the time I’m done with ya.”

Angela swallows around the lump in her throat, believing him. She’s desperate for this, knows she must be drenched by now if she was soaked before, but just as Jamie positions himself between her legs, head of his cock wet with precome and ready to slide right in, she jerks her body away from him.

“Wait! We—the condoms,” she pants, having almost forgotten. It takes a second for Jamie to realise what she’s asking. He frowns.

“Oh, come on!” he says, clearly frustrated by this final roadblock. “Seriously? We're ready to go here!”

Angela lifts her eyebrows at him. She’s terribly horny, but not nearly enough for it to be negotiable. Jamie’s frown loosens.

“Alright, just—hang on,” he says, letting go to whirl around and reach off the end of the bed. Adrenaline courses through her when she rests up on her elbows to watch him. There’s the electrifying rustle of plastic from the carrier bag and then the pop of cardboard opening. Jamie moves back over to her but seems to be struggling with the wrapper, cussing as his metal fingers slip before choosing instead to it open with his teeth. Angela bites her lip, enjoying the carnality of it as he spits out the torn edge, but he’s careful when he rolls the condom over his dick, scowling down in concentration and using only his human hand.

“How much longer are you going to take?” she asks, figuring one final push won’t hurt. Her smile is coy when his eyes snap up to her.

“Oh, you are _really_ fucking asking for it now,” Jamie growls, a delicious threat that sends a decadent chill down her spine. Once his cock is wrapped he grabs under her knees and yanks her body forwards, reaching down to slap his length over her pubic mound. Angela yelps out in surprise, and then Jamie is dragging his cock down, rubbing the head over her clit to elicit one last whimper from her before thrusting forwards and sliding in.

Angela gasps. Her body is definitely wet enough to take this, but she tenses from the abrupt intrusion, fingers gripping the bedsheets. The thickness she’d admired in her hand seems much bigger now that she’s stretched around it, an uncomfortable feeling as it’s been so long since she was fucked. Maybe coming once wasn’t quite enough preparation after all, she thinks, shuddering as her body tries to adjust to Jamie’s cock inside her. Just as she thinks she’s gotten used to it he pushes in deeper still, sinking himself into her with an _nngh_ growled out through gritted teeth.

“Oh my god,” Angela says, voice cracking. Jamie tilts his head and smirks down at her like he’s amused by her struggle to accommodate him.

“Aww, too much for ya, is it?” he asks, sweetly mocking and making her belly coil. Angela puffs out a laugh.

“No, it’s just—a lot.”

“Yeah, it is a lot, ain’t it?” he says, arrogantly. Then he leans forwards, looming over her and almost purring when he adds, “M’not even fully in yet.”

Angela’s eyes widen.

“You—you’re not?” she asks, because she was sure that he was. Jamie grunts and pumps his hips in answer, bringing his body flush to hers with a wet sounding slap and filling her up the rest of the way. Angela chokes, the entire length of his dick enough to knock the breath right out of her.

“NowI am,” he laughs, giving her thigh a firm pat with his human hand like he’s congratulating her for taking all of him. Angela’s breathing is shallow now that she’s fully stretched around him, and she cranes her neck so she can look down to where their bodies are connected. As good as it feels to be filled by him, to see the sharp cut of his abs where his crotch disappears into hers, she needs Jamie to start moving, needs the rhythmic stroking of his cock inside her and some attention on the pulsing heat of her clit so that it can start to feel _really_ good.

“Juh—Jamie, please—” she starts, but he grinds his hips, a single thrust while hilted, and whatever she was going to say breaks out into a moan instead.

“Yeah?” he asks her, so softly. “What is it?”

Angela takes a breath only for him to do the same again, an insistent roll of his hips to push his cock deeper, make her moan and arch her back. Jamie snickers like he’s pleased by this and almost fully pulls out only to slam back in, hard this time.

“Jamie!” she cries, tugging at his bedsheets.

“That’s it, lemme hear that sweet voice of yours,” he says, his own low and dangerous, not soft anymore. Jamie thrusts in and out of her, all strong muscle and smooth skin as his hips smack in halting, measured bursts against her ass. She’s afraid of being too loud but apparently that isn’t an issue, the wooden headboard of his bed knocking against the wall in time with his thrusts, so Angela moans out for him even though she’s embarrassed by the sound of her own voice. Fire pools in her pelvis from being fucked at such an agonising pace, his eyes on her watching every little sound and movement she makes, like he's fucking her slow on purpose just to drink in her reactions. His hands are still gripped around the back of her knees, thumbs digging in so hard it almost hurts, but she needs this so badly that the pleasure when he slips out and rams in again is overpowering, pulling involuntarily wanton sounds out of her throat. Jamie rewards her moaning by thrusting faster, and Angela tips her head back and whimpers, breasts bouncing and toes curling now that he's upped the pace.

“Yeah, that’s right, take that big fucking dick!” Jamie leers. Angela cringes at how unbearably arousing it is to be spoken to like this, wishing he would reach down and touch her, do more than simply hold her legs apart and repeatedly slam his cock into her. Jamie’s hands do slide down from her thighs as though he’s going to oblige her, but he grabs her hips instead and yanks her forward with a commanding tug, the slap much louder this time when their bodies meet. Angela cries out, startled by the sheer force of it, and then he starts pulling her hips to meet his with every thrust, fucking her properly, not holding back anymore.

“Fuck’s sake, you’re still too fuckin’ tight!” Jamie hisses. Angela laughs incredulously, a broken sound now that her body is being pounded.

“I thought—that was supposed—to be a good thing,” she gasps, wondering why on earth he wouldn’t want her to be tight when every other man she’s ever been with has.

“Nah, don’t want you all tensed up like this! S’much better if you’re nice and loose for me." Jamie’s eyes lower, the most horrible of grins spreading over his face. "M’gonna fuck this cunt ‘til it gapes.”

It’s so intensely vulgar that Angela cries out his name, and Jamie starts slamming into her with such force she has to pant for breath between moans. She wants to reach out to him, touch him and drag his body down on hers, but he’s fucking her so hard that all she can do is brace her hands on the headboard behind her, try and stop it from smacking against the wall.

It should be impossible for this to feel as good as it does when he’s being so rough, rougher than any man she’s ever slept with before. Angela can’t believe she might possibly be able to come from penetration alone again, but the power of his thrusts and the fact that he’s making good on so many threats have her muscles beginning to clench around him. All she needs is—something, anything, his lips on her neck, his hands teasing her nipples. Even if he just leaned over a little more so that his crotch would grind between her legs it would be enough, but he hasn’t touched her clit once in all the time he’s been inside her. Jamie is panting now too, lips parted and tongue out like an animal, fucking her at a punishing pace. Why is—oh, god, it’s breathtaking being ravaged by him, being victim to his carnal aggression—but why, why is he so far away from her? Angela is close, she’s so close to actually coming from this but she wants him on her, over her, not just—fucking her like she’s a piece of meat.

Out of nowhere Jamie hilts into her so hard it jerks her body and verges on being painful, makes her wail and tug on the bedsheets. He groans, a long and guttural sound while keeping her hips against him, and then his head rolls back, thrusts petering off into a couple of deep shoves before slowing and stopping entirely.

“Fuck, that’s better,” Jamie says, a coarse sigh as he leans away from her, cock twitching where it’s still buried inside. Angela whimpers at the wet pop when he pulls out of her, and the feeling of emptiness he’s left her with, stretched and aching when she was on the brink of orgasm, makes a cold weight drop in her stomach.

“J—Jamie, don’t tell me you just—”

“Yeah, I did,” he says dismissively, before blowing out a long and satisfied breath. Jamie swipes his human hand across his forehead and laughs. “Fucking needed that, holy shit!”

He pats her thighs and sits back. Angela stares up at him, trying to calm her breathing. She’s shaking from where she’s been left on the edge, thighs quivering and clit throbbing from the desperate need to be touched, but Jamie’s already easing the condom off. He holds it up so she can see his come.

“Jeeeez, look at all that,” he says, grinning at her. “S’gotta be at least thirty mil in there!”

Jamie ties the condom and tosses it off the bed. Angela is speechless. She closes her legs and gently eases up so that she’s sitting too, despite the crushing disappointment weighing down on her chest, the hollow ache between her legs. For probably the first time since she’s known him, she’d fully prepared herself for Jamie to blow her mind. She was ready. She—she still _is_ ready, doesn’t want to entertain the idea that everything—all these weeks, months, texts, stops—was somehow leading to perhaps fifteen minutes of… being fucked.

Is that really all he wanted?

“I… well, I—I suppose there’s tomorrow morning?” Angela asks, trying to hide her crestfallen heart. “If, um. If you’d like to go again, that is.”

Jamie frowns at her.

“Oh,” he says, eyebrows lifting. He grins, laughs. “Ohhh, shit, you think—you think we’re _done_   here?”

He advances on her, suddenly predatory. Jamie comes so close she has to lean back, shoulders meeting the headboard as he looms over her, hands spreading her thighs so he can kneel between them. Angela holds her breath.

“Christ, that was just a warm-up!” he says, before dipping down so that his breath is hot on her ear. “Haven’t even started on you yet.”

Oh, she thinks, a chill rippling down her spine. Thank _god._

Jamie kisses under her ear, along her jaw and cheek until he reaches her mouth, and when his tongue parts her lips she makes a needy sound against him, holding onto his shoulders. His skin is hot and a little damp from his exertion, and his metal hand is warmer now, fingers not so cold where they’re fanned over her thigh.

“Got me so riled up I couldn’t properly look atcha before,” Jamie says, pulling back. His eyes are lidded, flitting over her body, and he drags both hands along her curves, hips to chest. “Can now though. Don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you like,” Angela says, breathless. She feels more exposed now than she did on her back but the way he’s looking at her is exhilarating, all appreciative hunger with his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Mmm… think I’m gonna play with these milky tits of yours first,” he says, smirking as he cups them in his hands.

“Jamie,” she whimpers, even though she’s delighted, gasps when he dips down and laps his tongue over her left nipple. He flicks it, making her whimper again, and when it peaks he moves over to the other one, lapping over before taking it between his lips and grazing ever so slightly with his teeth. Angela moans softly, amazed by Jamie’s sensuality when he’s just been fucking her like a monster. She runs her hands over the back of his neck to thread her fingers through his hair. He seems to like this, _mmh_ ing while he sucks her nipple, and when she scritches her fingers gently over his scalp she can feel the slight waver of his body shivering, hear the pleasured rumble in his throat. As wonderful as it is to be lavished with this attention, though, Angela is still craving a more intimate touch thanks to the lingering throb between her legs.

“I— _nh—_ was a little worried you didn’t want to do anything more,” she says, when he lifts off her breast to go in for another kiss. Jamie’s brows furrow and he leans back instead.

“Y’think I was just gonna leave ya like that? C’mon, Angie, have a bit of faith, wouldja?”

He looks a little put out, making her feel guilty for being so quick to underestimate him yet again.

“I just… aren’t you tired?” she asks, meekly. Jamie makes a _tch_ sound.

“What fucking dipstick would ever get tired of this?” He smooths his hands over her hips, then adds, almost growling, “Jesus, just lookin’ atcha’s enough to get me hard.”

She glances down between his legs to see that he’s right—his cock isn’t completely soft despite having only just come. Jamie trails kisses along the slope of her neck, teasing her nipple with a smooth metal fingertip while his human hand slides down the inside of her thigh. His fingers brush over the slickness left from where he fucked her, and Angela gives a shaky sigh. It's very nice, but she doesn’t think this is going to be nearly enough after taking the full length of his dick.

“You’ve—but you’ve already come,” she says, lashes fluttering as he starts kissing her neck.

“So? Won’t take long before I can go for round two.”

Angela stills at this. She pushes back on him, moving him off her neck. Jamie meets her eyes with an easy-going grin as though what he’s just suggested is no big deal, but she can’t wrap her head around the notion that he could actually go again.

“Round two?” she asks, hesitantly. She doesn’t want to be sceptical but she is, can’t help it. When her ex came he usually fell asleep straight afterwards, needed hours before he could get hard again.

“Shit,” Jamie laughs, looking concerned. “You really think that was it? That I’d fuckin’—wait all this time and not fuck you all night long?”

Angela sputters. It’s flattering and extremely hot that he wants to, and she knows he probably could, but it also makes her a little nervous. Her ex was too busy maintaining his grades to have a particularly high sex drive, so even during college she can only recall a couple of occasions where they’d gone at it like crazy. One of the many drawbacks from both of them being medical students at the time.

“I’d love that, but I don’t know if I could manage going all night,” Angela says, looking away. Jamie has been so self-assured in all of this, assertive where she’s constantly hesitated. The last thing she wants is to disappoint him.

Jamie rests his human palm over her stomach, tilts her chin up with metal fingers to bring her eyes back on his. His pupils are dilated, expression softer now, and when he leans in to kiss her it’s tender, reassuring.

“We don’t hafta go all night,” he says, when they part. Then he smirks. “Might’ve shot my load already but I’m still gonna make ya come for me."

"I already have," she says. "I'm—really, don't feel pressured to—"

"Angie, I've been fucking dreaming about this for months on end. Don't think you're gettin' off that easily!" Jamie says, wagging his finger at her. He stops, then, like he's reconsidering. "Well, uh. Okay, clearly you  _are_  gettin' off easily, 'cause you're with me, but—y'know what I mean."

Angela laughs, relief flooding into her from his persistent confidence.

"I know what you mean, yes."  
  
"Then stop worrying, and just leave everything to me!"

Jamie’s hand moves back down, palm flat on her clit while his fingers slide over wet flesh and slip inside again. The direct contact has her gasping, flooded with a different kind of relief this time, and then he’s working his palm nice and slow between her legs, metal fingers skating around her waist to draw lines along her back.

“That feel good?” he asks, watching her arch and whine for him. Angela nods, dizzy now that the need to come has resurfaced, boiling where he’d left it to simmer.

“Y—Yes, very good,” she says, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Not gonna. Relax, alright? Lemme take care of ya, s'all I wanna do.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she gasps, the tension she’d been clinging onto melting away under his touch, his ability to just—say something impossibly sweet like that and leave her pliant in his arms.

Angela is far more relaxed than when he fingered her earlier, responds better now that she’s been stretched. It should take far longer than this to bring her back to the edge, but Jamie guides her easily, gradually teasing it out of her. He grinds his palm hard against her clit when she starts to tense, and she tightens around him, moaning as he hilts his fingers and strokes her through a slightly stronger orgasm than the one before, probably an overspill where she was so close from being fucked.

“Toldja,” Jamie says, smugly, once she’s had a moment to recover.

“You make it seem easy,” she laughs, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead before tucking a few damp hairs behind her ear. He’s sucking his fingers clean again, lips curved upwards around them.

“Be even easier when I know exactly what makes ya tick,” he says, oozing confidence. “Gettin’ a pretty good idea as it is.”

“You are?” Angela asks, warmth blossoming in her chest from how much he seems to care about getting her off.

“Think so.” Jamie bunts his forehead to hers. His face is flushed, eyes lowered. “Could do with more practice though.”

“You say that like you’re planning on doing this a lot,” she says, allowing him to hear that she’s hopeful.

“Y’say that like I’m not,” Jamie counters, darkly. “Didn’t I tell ya? Not going anywhere ‘til I say so.”

I don’t want to go anywhere, she thinks, unable to vocalise it when he pushes her flat to the mattress. Angela moans when he dips down, lips and tongue on her nipples while his human hand stays between her legs, fingers curling inside and already trying to coax another orgasm from her. Jamie’s touch is urgent, rougher than he was before, but her body seems thirsty for it, in need of his confident aggression now that she’s sufficiently relaxed and reassured.

“Wanna fucking eat you up,” Jamie says, a threatening growl over her skin. Angela writhes beneath him, hoping he will. Apparently it’s been long enough for him to get hard again and his cock is pressing insistently against her thigh. When she reaches down to touch it Jamie grunts.

“Fuck,” he says, voice deep and dangerous again. “You want more?”

Oh, god, does she ever.

“Please,” she says, gazing up at him, wanting him to see that she needs this, that she’s ready.

“Well shit,” Jamie says, grinning. “Wanna sit on my lap? Ride my dick this time?”

Angela smiles, shakes her head.

“I think I’d rather be underneath you again.” Her gaze flicks down along the length of his body, then back up again, meeting his eyes. “Like before, but—closer, this time.”

“Like being pinned, do ya?” Jamie says, quietly. His eyes darken, burning down into hers. “Alright. I can do that.”

He presses a chaste kiss to her lips before extracting himself to grab another condom. Angela whimpers when he does, body trembling from where he’s gotten her so close again. Jamie doesn’t fumble with the wrapper this time. He seems focused when he rolls it on, and then he’s smirking down at her, guiding his cock between her legs. She’s so relaxed that there’s no resistance at all, and Jamie groans loudly as the full length of his dick slips right in, body meeting hers with a wet slap. Angela reaches out for him and he leans down to pin her, kissing beneath her ear. His crotch presses firmly against hers and she immediately squeezes her thighs around him, clutches desperately at his back from the overwhelming stimulation in all the places she needs. Being entered never normally feels this good, but it does, it feels incredible to be full with him on top of her like this after so much teasing.

“I—I’m close,” Angela gasps, clenching when he rolls his hips, strokes inside her with the thick length of his cock.

“Jesus, already?” Jamie laughs, close to her ear. He sounds impressed. “S’no fun if you’re gonna come for me this quick.”

“Please,” she says, body aching, needing him to move. Jamie obliges her with a few shallow pumps. He’s probably trying to tease her but the gentle massage of it is enough to get her there, have her groaning as a hot rush spreads out of her pelvis and washes over the rest of her body. Angela arches her back and grips around him, nails clawing at his back while trying to ride out the exquisite pleasure of coming so soon. God, it’s been years since she came this quickly, even though it’s mostly from where he’d been touching her before. She never once thought it would be like this - so easy and on their first night together - but she knows it’s because it’s with him.

“Milking my dick and I haven’t even started fuckin’ ya,” Jamie says, huffed against her neck. “Y’musta really— _nngh—_ needed this.”

“I—I did,” Angela breathes, grounded again even though her muscles are still spasming around him. Her hands slide up to the back of his neck, fingers teasing the damp hair above the nape. “Needed you,” she says, words spilling out before she can stop them.

She can’t see his eyes from where he’s pressed in so close, but she can hear the hitch in his breath. Jamie is still for a moment before wrapping his arms around her back, bringing her chest up to his, and then he starts to move properly, grinding himself over her, into her. His body is a hot and heavy weight on hers while he fucks her deep and slow, differently to before but with just as much confidence, that same raw strength that’s been so alluring from the start. Angela jams her heels into his thighs to keep him like this and he responds with his teeth and tongue over her neck, more powerful thrusts that have her moaning out over his broad shoulder, headboard banging on the wall behind them now that he’s going for it.

Jamie fucks her for what seems like forever, rutting her into the bed and pinning her with every part of his body. She doesn’t understand how he’s doing this, making her feel so intensely and effortlessly good when it’s been a slow build with just about every other man she’s been intimate with. She supposes it’s been a slow build with him too, just in a different way, more frustrating when there’ve been so many obstacles between them. None of that matters now that they’re here, though. Angela imagined it so many times but even the best dreams were incomparable to this, his bare skin hot and sweaty on hers, cock buried and stroking all the right places with every push. Jamie is loud, panting and grunting, all carnal noises that come out as hot breaths on her neck, and her fingers thread through his hair to try and let him know that this is good, so good, that it’s everything she ever could’ve wanted after yearning for all this time.

“Jamie,” she says, eventually drawing her hands back to press gently on his shoulders. She knows they probably haven’t been going for nearly as long as it seems, but as wonderful as he’s making her feel there’s an inkling of soreness from everything they’ve done. She’s tired, too, wants to curl up with him after the long day they’ve had. “I don’t—don't think I can go for much longer.”

He slows, drawing back from her with his hands either side of her head. Jamie’s eyes are dark and lidded, but he’s grinning, looks incredibly satisfied.

“Alright,” he says, breathlessly. He leans down to brush her nose with his, and somehow it feels even more intimate than having him inside her, something extremely private he’s sharing just with her. “Want me to pull out?”

“No, not just yet.” She runs her thumbs over his cheeks, looking over his freckles, his moles, his damp skin. “If… if you feel you could come, I want you to come,” she says, shyly.

“Fucking hell, Angie.” Jamie looks away from her, biting his lip. He shakes his head, looks back again, the grin on his face enormous now. “Yeah, I can—I can definitely come. Gonna hafta hold onto me for a sec though.”

Angela wraps her arms around his shoulders, clinging onto him as instructed. He grunts, both hands grabbing her ass to lift her slightly off the bed, and then starts pumping harder, faster, all loud wet sounds as he smacks into her. Jamie’s restrained himself well until now, back to fucking her like the monster he was earlier, but Angela is ready for it this time, crying out to let him hear that she wants nothing more than to be rocked into the bed like this and submit completely to his raw power.

When he’s finished, groaning loud before pulling out after a few final thrusts, Angela’s back is damp with sweat as it meets the bed. The sheets beneath her are damp too, sticky on her skin. It takes far more effort than it should to curl over onto her side away from it, wincing and quivering in the aftermath of being so thoroughly fucked, but she manages. Her eyes are heavy, and although she’s tired she doesn’t want to sleep. It’s the only coherent thought she has right now, not wanting this night to end even though she’s exhausted and her body needs rest.

Jamie flops down beside her, blowing out a long breath. He’s sleepy too, grin tired but wide when he looks across at her. He lifts his arm up—his left one, the one that’s facing her—and motions with his head for her to come closer.

“C’mere,” he says gently, melting her once again.

Angela feels fragile as she shuffles over to him. When she’s nestled into his side she rests her head on his chest. Jamie’s arm is firm around her shoulders but the kiss he presses to her forehead is so soft she has to nuzzle into him, elated by his affection, his sweetness even now. As she reaches out to lace her hand over his chest she notices the bracelet on her wrist—hadn’t even realised she was still wearing it. A weight she’s already used to. The catalyst for all of this.

She closes her eyes once she’s settled, chest cushioned on his. Jamie’s strong heartbeat is comforting and close to her own, his breath against her hair where his face is tilted towards her. Angela thinks that maybe she does want to go to sleep now, actually, if it means bringing this evening to an end and waking up next to him in the morning after all.

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much [Muppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/profile) for going through soooo many drafts of this and providing EXCELLENT FEEDBACK AS USUAL!!!!!
> 
> CHAPTER 12 COMING SOON AND IT'S GONNA BE GOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	12. The Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! [I wrote a sidefic that ties into the main story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13470075), and I think this is a good place to stop and read it!
> 
> Only One is a day in Junkrat's life while Mercy is away. There are some pretty juicy plot points in it that lead very nicely into what's coming up, so I highly recommend reading it before continuing with the main fic!!!!
> 
> Also, I owe one-irradiated-muppet my life for betaing this chap. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! <3 [Her fics can be found here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/works)

Jamie’s bedroom is still dark when Angela wakes up, but there’s enough light filtering in through the blinds for her to know that it’s daytime, at least.

It’s tempting to close her eyes and doze again, head foggy from sleeping so hard. Now that she’s awake, however, Angela is suddenly very aware that she forgot to brush her teeth last night. She also forgot to remove her makeup. Her mascara must be flaking by now and her foundation is probably patchy, though it’s difficult to know just how bad it is without having her phone nearby to use as a makeshift mirror. Angela sits up and peers over the bed to see where she left those facewipes. The air in the room is cold when it hits her bare shoulders, so she lays back down and pulls the duvet up again instead, looking across to where Jamie is asleep beside her.

He's snoring, but he looks so utterly adorable that Angela’s need for facewipes and toothpaste blunts, replaced by the desire to be close to him. His mouth is hanging open and his hair is a tousled mess in the pillow, and he’s taking up most of the bed starfishing. Even with the covers strewn haphazardly over him like that, she can feel warmth radiating from his naked body.

Angela gazes at him, fondness stirring inside her watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It doesn’t seem real that she spent the night with him. It is, though, and this huge, helpless grin spreads over her lips as she remembers what they did yesterday and all the events leading up to it. She doesn’t particularly want to wake him up as he seems peaceful despite the snoring, but looking at him makes her yearn to be closer. She shuffles over, pulling the duvet across to cover him.

When she brushes against his side Jamie’s bare skin feels wonderful on hers, enough to send a warm rush of arousal through her even though she’s still waking up. Angela doesn’t feel sore, but she’s also hungry now that the adrenaline of being with him has softened, stomach grumbling as she moves. All she really wants right now is to share cuddles and kisses with him anyway, so she rests her arm over his chest and slides her thigh over his, simply happy to be close to him in her sleepy haze.

“Nh,” Jamie says, brows drawing together from the disturbance. He shifts, head tilting towards her.

“Hey,” Angela says. His eyes crack open and he blinks at her. There’s an inkling of worry as she wonders how he’ll react to her after everything they’ve done, but when Jamie smiles it dissolves immediately, the pleasant surprise on his face enough to ease her mind.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles. “Mornin’.”

Jamie’s voice is so sweet and sleepy that Angela can’t resist moving up and pressing a kiss to his cheek in greeting. His smile widens.

“Morning,” she says, fingers splayed over his chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm.” Jamie drags his left hand over his eyes to rub out some sleep before wrapping his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. “Think m’still dreaming to be honest,” he says, sounding groggy.

“Maybe you are,” Angela says, kissing along his cheek until she reaches his lips. She hesitates, but Jamie slides his hand up to the back of her neck and tips her head forward to close the distance, bringing her into a soft, slow kiss that has her melting in against him.

“Dunno,” he says, when they part. His eyes still aren’t fully open. “Starting to think I mighta died and gone to heaven.”

“What makes you say that?” Angela asks, having a good idea of what’s coming.

“’Cause I’ve woken up next to an angel,” Jamie says, with a shit-eating grin.

Angela groans, spreading her hand over his face to stop him when he goes in for another kiss.

“How long have you been sitting on that one?” she asks, grinning at the huff he gives against her palm. When he kisses it she withdraws, resting it over his chest again.

“Dunno about that one in particular. Been wanting to make an angel pun since about two seconds after I first met ya though,” Jamie says, casually.

“Gosh. I’m impressed you lasted so long.”

“S’worth the wait.” Jamie rubs his metal hand across his eyes this time, human arm still slung over her shoulders. Angela finds it very cute that he’s taking so long to wake up. “Can’t tell ya how fuckin’ good it feels to get it outta my system.” He groans, shifting against her. “So good I think I just came.”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, laughing. She lifts the duvet to peer down at him. Jamie’s got morning wood, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to have made a mess just yet. Looking at his dick is enough to send another pang of arousal through her, thinking of how good he made her feel with it last night. Jamie squeezes her.

“Wanna fuck?” he says. Angela chuckles, unsurprised by this early resurgence of his libido.

“Aren’t you a little too sleepy for that?” she asks, knowing it’s probably a silly question.

Jamie pulls away from her, grimacing as some of his joints click from moving. Then he climbs on top of her, pressing her shoulders down onto the bed so that he can straddle her. Jamie’s metal hand is cold but the rest of his body is warm where he’s seated over her hips, dick hot and hard on her belly. Once he’s rearranged the duvet so it’s tented over them he grins down at her.

“I’m _never_ too sleepy for that.” He leans over to kiss both of her nipples, one after the other. “Think I’d still be able to fuck ya even if I was unconscious,” he says, breath hot on her skin. Angela shivers.

“That isn’t something I’d particularly like you to try,” she says. “I believe you, though.”

Jamie looks up at her. His eyes are still heavy with sleep but narrowed, focused on hers.

“Didn’t answer my question, Angie,” he says, voice low and a touch dangerous. “You wanna fuck?”

Angela takes a breath but her stomach answers for her, suddenly giving a loud gurgle in the warm space between them. Jamie bursts out laughing.

“Sorry,” she says, covering her face with her hands and giggling as well despite the embarrassment. Jamie moves backwards and kisses her navel.

“Don’t hafta be sorry for that,” he murmurs, against it. “I’m pretty hungry too.”

He goes lower, kissing down her belly. Heat pools thick and fast between Angela’s legs, knowing where he’s headed.

“Maybe we should get something to eat,” she says, breath coming faster now. Jamie smirks up at her.

“I know what I’m having,” he says. “Fuckin’ Swiss breakfast.”

Angela laughs, only covering her face with one hand this time. It makes her cringe, but part of her finds Jamie’s preoccupation with her nationality as endearing as it is bewildering.

“Honestly. I suppose I should’ve expected that,” she says, peeking through her fingers at him. “Is it really that appealing?”

Jamie snickers. “Yeah,” he says, kissing her abdomen. “It is.”

“I don’t know how,” she says quietly, watching as he shuffles lower down her body. Angela is too content to feel self-conscious, bending her knees and spreading her thighs easily for him. She wouldn’t ordinarily allow this without showering first, especially after all of their activity last night, but somehow she doesn’t think he’s going to mind, seeing as he’s not even fully awake yet but he’s already initiating something like this.

Jamie holds her by her hips, kissing over the blonde hair on her pubic mound. Angela rests on her elbows so she can see him and she gasps out as his mouth disappears between her legs, lips soft and warm when he kisses her down there, too.

“Thought you’da realised by now that every bloody thing about you is appealing,” Jamie says, over her.

“I’m happy you think so,” she admits, shyly, even though she doesn’t agree.

“Too right I do.” Angela whimpers when he leans in and laps at her, one long swipe. “Can’t get enough of ya,” he adds, quiet and close to her wet flesh.

She can feel his knees beneath her feet and braces herself on him, thighs quivering as he closes his eyes and starts to lick. The flat of Jamie’s tongue is firm and slow as it slides over her, collecting the wetness he’s caused in the few minutes they’ve been awake together. Angela is amazed that he’s so keen to do this despite her undoubtedly terrible makeup and the fact that she hasn’t showered, even if this isn’t quite the romantic morning of cuddles and kisses she had in mind. The warmth washing over her is just as welcome, though.

“Jamie,” she says, wanting his attention. He doesn’t stop licking, but his eyes are lowered when he opens them to meet hers. Jamie teases her by flicking his tongue over her clit. Angela sighs, head tilting back automatically from the acute rush this sends through her.

“M- More,” she says, clawing at his bedsheets. He flicks again, firmer this time, and Angela moans, her toes brushing over his thighs as they curl.

Jamie doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. Angela is grateful for this, more than happy to lay here and have him lazily eat her out. It’s probably the first morning in the last few months when she’s woken up without a plan, nowhere she needs to be and nothing she needs to do. There’s still the niggling desire to bathe and brush her teeth, but it isn’t nearly strong enough for her to consider moving away from what he’s doing between her legs.

He’s good at this, too, seems to like teasing until she has to ask for more. Then he’ll flick his tongue over her clit, make her arch her back and moan out for him, and it starts to feel so good that Angela brings her thighs together to hold his head in place. Jamie _really_ likes this based on the sounds he makes against her, groans vocalised from his throat now that his mouth is occupied. Angela has always enjoyed oral sex, doesn’t need much to get off from it when she’s this comfortable and relaxed, but it’s especially arousing that she didn’t have to prompt him to do this—that he’s enjoying it this much.

Jamie’s licking turns rough and sloppy once he’s gotten her off. Angela thinks she might come from it again and tells him as much, the _I’m close_ she gasps out more of a plea than a statement, but suddenly he sucks hard on her when she’s gotten used to him being so gentle. She winces, jolting away from him.

“Too much?” Jamie asks, panicked when he snaps back and looks up at her. The way his eyebrows draw together turn his question into an apology, and Angela doesn’t feel embarrassed when she nods at him.

“A little,” she says. She’s smiling though, still feeling wonderful from everything else he’s done. “I’m just not used to it, I think.”

Jamie offers her a sympathetic smile before pressing a kiss to the inside of her leg, mouth wet where he hasn’t wiped her off.

“Guess it has been a while for ya,” he says, smile turning sneaky. “Gonna hafta fix that, y’know.”

Just as Jamie ducks down to her, apparently ready to start fixing it right now, Angela’s stomach groans again. They laugh and he sits up properly instead, stroking over her thighs before giving them an encouraging pat.

“Want me to getcha somethin’ to eat? Bring ya breakfast in bed?” Jamie asks, bright and awake. It’s cute that he’s so eager to please her with things like this, too, as well as sex. Angela draws her thighs together to sit up with him.

“Gosh, how romantic of you.”

Jamie smirks, baring his teeth at her. “Well, you are looking at _the_ Jamison Fawkes, MASTER of romance!”

Angela chuckles. “I am indeed. But yes, if it’s alright, I probably need to eat something.” She notes that his cock is still hard between his legs, so it’s even more touching that he’s offering this when she hasn’t had a chance to reciprocate. “As much as I’d love some Australian sausage.”

Jamie splutters. Angela bites her lip around a smile, pleased to have caught him off guard with this.

“Jesus,” he says, practically beaming at her. “Never thought I’d hear those two words come outta that innocent mouth of yours!”

“I thought you might appreciate it,” she says, edging away from him when he leans in towards her. She cringes when Jamie kisses her, having never been a fan of tasting herself, but it isn’t so offputting that she doesn’t kiss him back. Angela smiles against his mouth when he cups her face and laughs when he tries to part her lips with his tongue.

“Jamie,” she says, fondly scolding. She pushes back on his chest but he comes closer anyway.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” Jamie says, a low purr before he steals another kiss. Angela doesn’t think she’s ever been called a ‘dirty girl’ in her entire life, but she loves the way he says it, like he’s rewarding her for daring to be crass. She kisses back without hesitation this time, though her nose wrinkles when they part because now all she can smell is herself. Jamie cackles, amused by her distaste, and plants one last kiss on her cheek before he moves away.

“Lemme getcha some brekkie,” he says, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. The muscles in his back stretch as he leans down to grab his pegleg off the floor, then he engages it and stands up. Angela feels a cold shiver watching him pull his boxers on, realising that she’s still naked and the room isn’t any warmer than when she woke up.

“Is—ah, is there anything I could wear, perhaps?” she asks, rubbing her hands over her arms.

Jamie blinks around at her. Angela worries that it might be rude, but she’s so relaxed from how good he’s made her feel and how generous he’s been that she didn’t think twice about asking.

“Shit,” he says, surprised. “You uh—y'wanna wear something of mine?”

“If that’s alright.” Angela almost apologises for being unprepared, but Jamie looks ecstatic.

“Bloody hell, ‘course it’s alright! Can’t have ya gettin’ cold. Give us a sec and I’ll find ya something warm to put on!”

Angela loves that he’s so thrilled by this, but she’s even more thrilled that he wants to share his clothing, something else he’s happy to do for her that’s intimate without being sexual. The thought of being able to wear something of his is humbling, and as Jamie goes to his wardrobe Angela feels so full of affection she could burst. Her time with him just seems to be getting better and better, a dream she’s woken up from that’s continuing in real life.

“Think I know just the thi—”

Jamie’s sentence ends abruptly in a loud yelp when he opens the wardrobe door and an avalanche of stuff tumbles out of it. The heavy clatter of multiple bowls and plates hitting the wooden floor makes Angela jump, one of them smashing outright, and cutlery spills out with them along with what appears to be several weeks of unwashed laundry. Within the pile, she’s pretty sure there’s a wrench, an oil can, and an articulated action figure that she recognises from one of the cartoons she used to see advertised in Japan.

Jamie scratches the back of his head.

“Well shit,” he says.

For a second they both stare down at the mess. Then they look at one another, and Angela straightens up and folds her arms, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Wow. And so the illusion of perfection shatters,” she says, smirking. “I must say, you had a very good run there. I was almost impressed.”

Jamie’s voice breaks when he laughs. “Oh, come on, Angie, give us a break!” he says, gesturing at her as though the mess is somehow her fault. “S’not like I had any bloody warning you were gonna be coming over here!”

Angela has enjoyed her lazy morning thus far, but it feels good to get up and stretch her legs when she pads over to the pile, surveying it with an exasperated smile. Alarmingly, she isn’t sure if she’s rather relieved to see his mess laid out like this. It seems more authentic, what she’d been expecting prior to her arrival.

“I suppose I did drop in on you unannounced,” she sighs. “Still, this is…”

“Hey, cleaning up wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities when I had you fucking—seducing me!” Jamie huffs.

Angela just laughs. Amongst the pile she can see what appears to be a clean white t-shirt, but when she bends to pick it up he snatches it.

“NO, not—not that one!” Jamie says, smile nervous as he whips it away from her. “Look, just—don’t touch anything, alright? I've got this!”

“Okay, okay!” Angela holds up her hands. She squints at the t-shirt, wondering why that one in particular is off limits, but Jamie quickly bundles it up and shoves it under a pair of ratty looking shorts. She shivers again, rubbing her arms from the cold air in his room, so Jamie ignores the mess for now and starts rummaging through his wardrobe to pick something out for her. Tiptoeing over the pile and peeking inside, she spots a very familiar looking orange sleeve between a bunch of t-shirts. Angela taps his metal arm.

“Is that your hoodie??” she asks, unable to contain her excitement.

“Huh? Yeah, it is.” Jamie's eyes go wide when he looks at her. “You… you wanna wear it?” he asks, hopefully.

“Oh, yes please!”

He tugs it off the hanger and hands it over. Angela holds it up. The patches sewn onto it could probably do with a few more threads to keep them in place, and it’s covered in marks and stains, needs a good wash. But at this point Angela does too, so she pulls it straight on over her head. Jamie's hoodie is so big that it swamps her, coming past her ass like a sweater dress, and she hugs herself immediately. It may need a wash, but it also conjures nothing but wonderful memories of being held against him on that train in Japan. She simply cannot believe she’s actually wearing it—his hoodie, _the_ hoodie, soft and warm and smelling of him.

He’s bending down to the drawer compartment under the wardrobe. Jamie pulls out a pair of boxers, and when he straightens he steps back in surprise, eyes flitting over her now that she’s wearing his hoodie. Then a massive grin stretches over his lips, and he scratches his human hand back through his hair.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Uh. Here, you might wanna put these on too.”

Angela slips the boxers on. They’re barely visible, a slither of grey peeking out from the orange hem, but she’s grateful for the extra layer and steps over the pile so that she can hug him. It takes a moment for Jamie to hug her back, but he does, tightly.

“Thank you,” Angela says, submerged in the incredible feeling of his arms around her while she’s swathed in fabric.

“’Course,” Jamie says, letting go to hold her by the shoulders. “You gonna be warm enough in that?”

“Yes, definitely.” Angela goes up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for letting me wear it.”

“Suits ya,” he says, quietly. He’s gone red, hasn’t stopped grinning. “Anyway, lemme just—I gotta sort this fucking shit out so I can get food,” Jamie says, laughing awkwardly down at the mess beneath their feet. Angela runs her hand over his tattooed shoulder.

“Would you like me to help?”

“Nah, s’my mess, I’ll deal with it.” Jamie gives her ass a two-handed squeeze. “All you need to worry about is getting this perfect fucking arse of yours back into bed!”

Angela giggles. “Is that an order?”

“I can make it one,” Jamie growls, playfully threatening, but she lifts a finger to his lips when he goes in for a kiss.

“Would you mind if I brushed my teeth first? Then I’ll get straight back into bed as instructed,” she says.

He gives a long sigh like he _supposes_ this is acceptable, and takes her across the corridor to the bathroom. Angela braces herself when he opens the door and turns the light on. The bathtub could use a good scrub and the toilet seat is up, but considering this is a house shared by two men, Junkrat being one of them, it isn’t as dirty as she feared.

Angela uses one of her facewipes to give the mirror above the sink a quick clean before assessing the damage. Her makeup isn’t terrible, but her hair needs combing and she’s a bit embarrassed that she’s exposed Jamie to her panda eyes all morning. Angela feels ten times better once she’s wiped her face, then a hundred times better when she’s brushed her teeth and removed the fuzzy film in her mouth. She’ll shower later—doesn’t want to right now when she’s only just put his hoodie on—and peers out of the corridor when she’s finished.

The house is quiet except for the dull clamour of Jamie tidying up. Angela hasn’t heard or seen any sign of Roadhog, and the thought occurs to her that he may well have returned to the house last night when they were in the middle of fucking.

Please no. Hopefully he didn’t. She’ll have to acknowledge him at some point, but she hasn’t had any breakfast yet and needs to feel more human before she can process having to say hello after making so much noise with Jamie. Angela skitters back into the bedroom for now, also afraid of being spotted wearing so little if Roadhog is somewhere in the house.

“Feel better?” Jamie asks, smiling around at her. He’s crouched by the pile of laundry but immediately straightens and steps over to her, tugging her forward by her hips. Angela braces her hands on his chest, delighted by his affection but shrinking away from him when he goes in for a kiss. She’s only just taken her makeup off and feels self-conscious as it’s the first time he’s seen her totally bare-faced. Jamie frowns.

“What’s up?”

“Just—sorry I’m not wearing any makeup,” she says, looking down. Jamie snorts.

“Y’think I give a single dicking fuck about that?” he says. Angela splutters. “I’ve just had you stark bloody naked in bed!”

“That’s true, but—I don’t know,” she says, embarrassed anyway. Jamie guides her eyes back up to his, metal thumb and finger on her chin.

“Christ, you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, gently. “Bit of fucking makeup doesn’t change that.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she says, chest tightening. When he goes in for another kiss she meets him easily, grateful that he’s making it his mission to ensure she feels nothing but comfortable with him. It shouldn’t be such a pleasant surprise, but after the highly-strung men she’s been with before it’s baffling to be with someone who genuinely doesn’t seem to care about her unpolished appearance.

Jamie takes an enormous bundle of washing downstairs, and Angela stands alone in his bedroom. It’s too dark in here for her tastes now that she’s properly awake, so she opens the blinds to let more light in and allows herself the curiosity of having a look around. Jamie’s bedroom is… interesting. It isn’t quite as tidy as she thought it was last night and could use a good vacuum. There are cables littering the floorboards connected to an array of chargers plugged into the sockets, and multiple scrapes and scuffs are on the walls where she assumes he’s moved furniture. A laptop is poking out from beneath the bed that’s covered in stickers, and he has a tower computer set up on a long desk that also houses a couple of penpots and a drawing tablet. Angela’s attention, however, is drawn to his trinkets – specifically the figures lined up on a shelf above his computer.

She was already aware of Jamie’s nerdy interests because they discussed his hobbies while she was in Japan. They could do with being dusted, but seeing these figures in person makes her smile. They’re all different, but some of them remind her of Hana’s MEKA. Angela is pleased by this because she bought a model kit for Jamie while she was with Genji and the others one weekend in Tokyo—a big mech that caught her eye because it came with feathered wings. She thought he might enjoy assembling and painting something like that, but she never got a chance to give it to him after everything that happened with Zenyatta.

Perhaps it can be a late Christmas present? Come to think of it, she isn’t sure when he’s going out to New Zealand, nor how long he’ll be gone for. Hmm.

The sound of a phone buzzing has Angela turning around, distracted. For a second she thinks it’s her own, but it’s Jamie’s. He’s left it on the bedside table. She’d like to see what time it is, so Angela steps over and peers down at his home screen where it’s all lit up.

 

 _12:46_  
_Saturday 21 December_

 _Felicia                                                                    1 min ago:_  
_Been weeks since we saw you lol house party at Kat’s if you’re int…_  
  
_Felicia                                                                    1 min ago:_  
_Rat you fucking twattttt you coming out tonight?_  
  
_Roadie                                                                  2 hours ago:_  
_Don’t forget to check the seat allocations for the flight._

 _SNAP                                                                     10 hours ago:_  
_You have 4 new video stories!_

_Roadie                                                                  11 hours ago:  
GLHF._

 

Angela smiles, frowning. She has no idea what ‘GLHF’ means, but it’s surprising that Jamie apparently hasn’t been out in a while. He seemed to go out often while she was in Japan but she has no idea what his weekends have consisted of since coming back. Somehow she doesn’t think he’ll be going to that party this evening, at any rate.

What’s more surprising is that it’s already almost 1pm. No wonder she’s so hungry. Angela didn’t have the stomach to eat much yesterday so it’s almost a full day since her last proper meal. Hopefully Jamie will bring up something nice for breakfast.

Seeing as he doesn’t want her touching any of his mess, Angela perches on the edge of his bed with her handbag, pulling out her phone so she can check her own notifications. Her stomach drops to see one missed call and a couple of messages from Lena. One is from midnight last night, and one is from half an hour ago.

_MISS YOU LOVELYYYYYY!!! JUNKRAT BETTER KEEP HIS HANDS TO HIMSELF >:(_

Oh dear. Probably best if she doesn’t answer this.

_Doc please text me when you’re awake I wanna know that you got home safe!!_

Shit. Angela doesn’t want to worry her, but she can’t tell Lena where she actually is right now either.

 _Hey! :)  Sorry to worry you, my phone has been on silent,_ she writes. _Yes, I am fine thank you! Did you enjoy the rest of the party?_

This seems safe. Lena replies instantly when she sends it off, which makes Angela feel worse. Was Lena that worried about Jamie taking her home?

_Thank god!! Yeah rest of the party was great, shame you didn’t stay but I know you’ve been mad busy. What are your plans for the rest of the day? :)_

That’s a good question. Angela’s spur of the moment decision to accompany Jamie home means she hasn’t given the rest of her time with him any thought. His only plans seem to revolve around staying in bed. Angela is absolutely fine with this. She can’t remember the last time she had a duvet day and, well, there’s still nowhere else she’d rather be than here with him. It’s going to take more than just one evening to make up for how long they’ve been waiting for each other.

 _You’ll have to tell me the gossip when I see you next week,_ Angela writes. _I have no plans today, which is a very nice change. :)  What about you?_

Lena takes longer to reply this time. Angela has a brief nose through her emails, but now that she’s on annual leave she feels too disconnected from work to absorb anything. Her mind keeps drifting to what Jamie’s making downstairs and what he might have planned for the rest of the day, if he’s truly going to insist on keeping her in his bed. Angela bites her lip and crosses her legs.

 _Emily and I are going out for some food shopping but I expect Waitrose will be rammed lol!_ Lena replies. _You still coming over for Christmas day?_

“Back!” Jamie says, coming inside. He’s holding two big cereal bowls. Somehow she was expecting him to be carrying a tray. Jamie sits beside her, human arm brushing hers, so she puts her phone face down on the bed. Lena will have to wait until after she’s eaten.

“We’re sorta runnin’ low on everything so I had to throw a buncha shit together,” Jamie says, handing a bowl over. “Hope it’s alright for ya.”

Angela looks at the contents and chuckles. A combination of three different cereals wasn’t quite what she pictured when he said he’d bring her breakfast in bed, but she's starving now and he’s been kind enough to give her plenty.

“It’s wonderful,” she says, sincerely. “Thank you.”

Jamie grins at her, leaning over for a kiss. Angela obliges him, smiling against his lips. She hasn’t had cereal for breakfast since she was in college. Even then it was mostly cornflakes, nothing as sugary as Jamie’s concoction. It’s delicious, though, not only because she needs the fuel but also because it’s something he’s made for her—a surprising demonstration of domesticity that’s romantic in his own way.

“Oh, your phone vibrated while you were downstairs,” Angela says, when she’s finished. Jamie chugs the milk straight from the bowl before he sets it aside and reaches for his phone.

“Ah shit, I gotta check our tickets,” he says, frowning at it. “Give us a few, I’d better do this now.”

She bunts her arm against his, watching him open his airline app. She doesn’t particularly want to, but she’ll have to ask about Jamie’s trip to New Zealand at some point, knowing she can’t stay here forever – that she’ll have to leave at some point before he goes.

Angela has an idea of where she’d like things with Jamie to go. The bracelet on her wrist is a strong indication that he’s interested in a lot more than sex, himself, but taking this further isn’t a conversation she’s ready to have just yet. She hasn’t forgotten that only yesterday simply kissing Jamie felt like a miracle, and it’s been so long since she entertained the idea of a relationship with anyone that it’s daunting trying to imagine what might happen outside of this perfect bubble in his bedroom. She also never bothered checking her contract for any inter-agent relationship clauses she was so convinced things with Jamie wouldn’t pan out—that they would never manage to go on even one date together.

They still haven’t, yet. But they’ve slept together, and Jamie said he was smitten with her. It’s quite possible that he wants to see where this weekend leads them before having any serious discussions. For now, Angela would rather park the inevitable question of where they’re going from here and simply enjoy his company—have some fun together after months and months of flirting. She feels she owes herself at least one uncomplicated weekend with him, in light of all the trauma they’ve gone through to get this far. It’s probably something she’ll revisit whenever he’s back from New Zealand.

“I meant to ask – when are you flying out?” Angela asks, smiling up at him. Jamie’s still busy tapping away on the app.

“Couple of days,” he sighs. “Gonna be gone for two weeks though.”

Two weeks is negligible after Japan. Angela almost says this, but following her decision to keep things light-hearted, she nuzzles his tattooed shoulder with her cheek instead.

“Will you bring something back for me?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “Some of that Australian sausage ya want so much.”

Angela laughs. “I thought I was having that today. Is it off the menu until you return?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Jamie throws his phone back onto the bedside table. It lands with a clatter, and then he rounds on Angela, swooping in to murmur against her lips. “You’re gonna be stuffed full of it by the time I go.”

Angela cringes, mostly at herself for finding this so arousing. “You make that sound far better than it should,” she says. When she moves to kiss him Jamie tips his head away, teasing her. He snickers when she whines.

“M’gonna fuck you so good you’ll be _begging_ me to stay,” he says, a threat that sends heat pulsing between her legs. Angela reaches down between his, feeling that he’s already hard through his boxers.

“Is, um. Roadhog out still?”

“Mmhmm. S’just us here.” Jamie’s breath is warm over her mouth, smells like chocolate from the cereal. “Think you’re ready to get dicked?”

“Well, we’ve only just eaten.” Angela slips her hand into his boxers to grasp his cock. Jamie hisses out a _fuck_. “But I’m still a little hungry.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, somewhat strained now that she’s holding him. Angela hums.

“Perhaps I could repay the favour from this morning,” she says, stroking up and down the length. The way that Jamie shivers under her touch is very pleasing, and he groans as she starts to pump him, spreading his legs for her. Angela shifts to kneel between them, but he makes an urgent sound at her, presses his metal hand on her shoulder like he wants her to stop. She glances up at him, panicked.

“Don’t you want me to?” she asks. Jamie blushes, eyes flitting to the side.

“Alright, I uh—I gotta be honest with ya,” he says. “If ya do, m’gonna shoot my load in about two fucking seconds.”

“Oh,” Angela says, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. He’s sheepish when he does look back at her, which she finds rather cute. It’s the first time Jamie’s seemed even remotely embarrassed about anything they’ve done.

“Yeah,” he says. “And, y’know, nice as it’d be to get sucked off for all of two seconds, I’d _really_   rather fuck you.”

“You do have a way with words, don’t you?” she says, trying to hide how excited she is by his blunt crudeness. Angela rests her hands on his thighs instead. “If that’s the case, how exactly would you like to fuck me?”

“Ohhh,” Jamie says, laughing. “Shit, sweetheart, best be careful offering y’self up like that.”

“Why?” She folds her arms. “I’m a big girl. You can tell me what you want.”

Angela feels confident, knowing what Jamie is capable of, but she hesitates when his eyes narrow.

“Hn. Alright then!” He tips his chin at her. “Hands and knees.”

She laughs.

“Excuse me?”

“Your hands and knees,” Jamie says, a barked order. “Get on ‘em, edge of the bed!”

Heat spikes in her belly. For a second Angela stares at him, wondering if he’s joking.

“I—would you like me to undress first?” she asks, smiling uncertainly.

“No. I’ll do that for you,” Jamie says. “Now _move_.”

Angela is hot all over when she arranges herself as instructed, shocked at how turned on she is from being spoken to like this and how willingly she obeys Jamie’s commanding voice. He gets up off the bed, and she gasps at the sudden feel of his hands groping under the hoodie to yank his boxers down off her hips. There’s the soft thud of them hitting the floor, but Angela keeps her eyes on the bedding below her, more aroused by the mystery of not knowing exactly what he’s going to do. She shivers when she hears another soft thud of fabric—Jamie’s boxers?—and then he pushes the hoodie up to her waist, completely exposing her lower half.

“Oh, that’s much too low,” he says, tutting. “Raise those hips, sweetheart!”

Angela makes an incredulous sound but curves her back to oblige him. Jamie _mmms_ his appreciation.

“Yeah, that’s better,” he says, deeply.

“I can’t believe that you, of all people, are instructing me on good posture,” she says, breathily now that she’s so exposed. Suddenly he slaps her ass with his human hand, hard enough to shock but not enough to hurt.

“Jamie!” she cries out, startled. He laughs, patting the spot he slapped. 

“Sorry, couldn’t help m’self!”

Jamie doesn’t sound sorry at all. Angela squirms when he slides both hands over her ass, whimpering when he digs his thumbs in and spreads her.

“Mmmm. Fuckin’ drenched already. Must like being on your knees for me!”

“It—it’s different to being on my back, at least.” Angela peers around at him. Jamie’s lip is caught between his teeth, looking at her like he’s wondering how hard he’s going to fuck her. She’s wondering the same thing, funnily enough.

“Ohhh, gettin’ sassy now, are we?” He smirks when he meets her eyes. “That’s cute. Shame it ain’t gonna last long.”

Angela laughs. “And why would tha— _ah!_ ”

Jamie strokes his fingers over her, allowing her to feel how wet she is.  She moans when he brushes lightly over her clit, and bends her elbows so she can lift her ass up higher for him.

“So _greedy_ , Angie, jeez.”

He’s leering at her, teasing her clit with his fingertips. Angela whimpers, letting him hear that she's greedy for him, that she needs more than this. Thankfully he’s feeling generous and slides a finger inside to start taking care of her. Angela closes her eyes and lowers her chest to the bed, soft sounds spilling out of her mouth now that he’s actively trying to get her off.

“Like that, do ya?” Jamie asks, a lilt to it that makes her stomach coil. “Being played with?”

“I—I _love_ it,” she gasps, because she does, she seems to love everything he does to her. Jamie laughs, almost sounds like he’s shuddering, and Angela digs her nails into the cuffs of his hoodie and grinds her palms into his bed, stretching her body out for him, wanting to show off. She isn’t used to being so exposed, preferring it when the lights are off, but Angela relishes being in such a lewd position for Jamie, far more than she normally would with afternoon sunlight pouring in through the blinds.

“Such a dirty girl,” he says, sinful praise that has her shuddering too. Jamie knows what she needs from fingering her yesterday, and strokes her until she comes for him, until she’s tugging on his bedsheets and moaning from how good it feels. He seems to be trying for a second already, but Angela needs more than his fingers to be satisfied now.

“Jamie,” she says, a soft plea into his duvet. “Please.”

“Hmm?” He leans over her. “What was that?”

“Please,” she says again, firmly this time.

“Still can’t hear ya,” Jamie says, arrogantly. “Speak up!”

“Just—fuck me already, will you!” Angela says, glaring around at him. She’s too horny to feel embarrassed by the crack in her voice or the fact that she’s begging. Jamie’s eyes go wide.

“Jesus!” he says, impressed. “That was way too fuckin’ easy. Alright!”

Angela turns away from him, giving a frustrated whine when he stops touching her. She can hear the light scratch of cardboard followed by a crinkle of plastic. Thank god, she thinks, relieved she hasn’t needed to prompt him for a condom today. Then he’s teasing her again, the wrapped head of his cock sliding over her.

“Jamie, _please_ ,” she whines, no longer attempting to hide her urgency. He’s still rubbing her with the head, not entering, so Angela rolls her hips back to try and fuck herself on him.

“Christ, you’re fucking desperate!” Jamie laughs. “Never thought I’d see ya this needy for my dick!”

“Well, I am!” Angela snaps. She’s shivery now, aching for him. “So are you going to give it to me? Or not?”

“Oh, I’ll give it to you,” he says, punctuating it by yanking her hips, and then finally, _finally_ he’s entering her.

“Fuuuck,” Jamie groans, drawing it out as he sinks in. Angela’s so ready for this that his cock hilts her without resistance. Thankfully he doesn’t want to tease her anymore and starts thrusting immediately.

“Oh, _god_ yes,” Angela gasps, his hands tight on her hips and pulling them to meet his. Jamie isn’t fucking her for long before she starts to tense, primed from the teasing prior to this. “Juh—Jamie, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what? Come? Go on then,” he says, like it’s nothing. Angela scoffs.

“I—I can’t just—”

“No, go on, come for me!” Jamie barks, slapping her ass again. “Fucking come!”

She cries out, doing as she’s told. He actually stops thrusting while she does, just holds her hips to his like he’s letting her ride it out.

“Aww. Needed that, didn’t you? Needed to be filled with this big dick,” Jamie says. It sounds like he’s grinning but Angela is too busy squeezing her eyes shut and clenching around him to look. “What a dirty fucking girl you are."

She groans at this, belly squirming from being called that once again. Then Jamie goes right back to thrusting, and all that tension he’d teased into her finally begins to drain now that he's giving her what she needs—his dirty mouth, his big fucking dick. Angela keeps her hands gripped in the bedding and moans out for him, so grateful to be fucked on his bed while wearing his hoodie that she’s unashamed of how loud she is. There’s nothing romantic about this, but she doesn’t need there to be—just needs that thick cock inside her and the heavy slap of his balls against her, metal and flesh digging into her hips while he grunts and pants over her.

Jamie briefly pistons his hips, coming hard judging by the long, hard shove which follows and the shamelessly loud groan that rolls out of his mouth. She’s already half slumped into the bed, but when he pulls out of her Angela collapses forwards onto her side, legs and knees aching from where she’s been spread.

“Fuck me,” Jamie pants. He climbs onto the bed and falls heavily alongside her, human arm sliding around her waist from behind. Both of them need a long moment to get their breath back. Angela’s entire body is quivering, but eventually she manages to push herself enough to turn around and face him. When his chest isn’t heaving so much he tugs her closer, leans down to nuzzle the crook of her neck.

“Thanks,” he says into it, still pretty breathless.

“Wha—Why are you thanking me?” Angela asks, baffled. Her voice is throaty where she’s been much louder than usual.

“Dunno,” Jamie says. “Just—lettin’ me, I guess.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. It could do with a brush. “I should be the one thanking you for making me feel so good.”

“Christ’s sake, I can’t go again just yet!” he laughs, huffing it over her skin.

“Wh—of course not, I’m not asking you to!”

“No, but when ya say that it makes me fuckin’ wish I could!”

Angela chuckles, flattered by Jamie’s seemingly unlimited desire for her.  He lifts off her neck and she stretches up to brush her nose over his, wanting more affection in the afterglow. When he brushes back she tips her head, beckoning him to kiss her, and Angela smiles at the way his eyelashes flutter when he leans in, blond hairs darker than hers.

“Then you only have yourself to blame,” she says. “Though I’m surprised that you… I mean, it felt like you lasted much longer last night. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Yeah, doggy’s sorta my… uh.” Jamie pauses, going back into the crook of her neck. “I dunno, just—having ya beg like that was really fucking hot.”

“Of course I did,” Angela says. She’s curious to know where his first thought was leading off to, but part of her sort of knows, anyway. It’s quite obvious by now that Jamie is very experienced. “Why wouldn’t I beg for you?”

“Fucking hell,” he says, quietly. Jamie seems to be hiding from her, doesn’t move from her neck even when she tips her head to try and look at him. He’s done this a couple of times now, avoid her like he’s overwhelmed by what she says. Is it honestly that surprising to him?

Angela sighs, pulling gently to coax him so he’s fully on top of her. When Jamie moves she can feel that he’s still wearing the condom, his wrapped dick limp where it's pressed into her. It doesn’t bother her, not when he’s cuddled close like this. She feels swampy in the hoodie, sweating from everything they’ve just done, but she still doesn’t want to take it off—wants to simply lay here in it with him, immersed now that she’s completely relaxed.

Suddenly there’s the sound of a flushing toilet. Angela’s eyes snap open where they’d started to close.

“Is—is that Roadhog?” she asks, whispering. Jamie lifts his head, looking dozy.

“Uh, yeah? Guess he’s back."

Angela prickles. She can hear floorboards creaking under Roadhog’s weight in the corridor outside, and she immediately pushes Jamie off her and sits up.

“Do you think he heard?” she asks. He shrugs when he sits up too.

“Probably.” Jamie grins, rubbing his eyes. “You were pretty loud!”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, horrified.

“Pffft, don’t worry about it.” He peels off the condom, pouting when he holds it up. “Aww, not as much this time. Ah well!”

He ties it, balls it, and tosses it on the floor. Angela is hugging herself, drowning in the humiliation of knowing that Roadhog definitely heard them. Jamie hooks his metal arm around her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze.

“Stop frettin’, will ya?” he says, offering her a big smile. “S’not like he gives a shit!”

Angela’s smile back at him is unconvinced. She squirms from the tickle of it when he nuzzles her neck.

“Besides, he’s gonna hafta get used to it, cause I ain’t plannin'  on stoppin' just cause he’s around!”

Jamie’s human hand slides under the hoodie to brush over her breasts. It’s enough to peak her nipples, but she puts her hand over his to stop him, aware of the scratch in her throat when she sighs.

“I think I need a drink,” she says. “I, um. Would you mind getting one for me? I don’t think I can face leaving this room just yet.”

Jamie laughs. “Nah, ‘course I don't mind. S’gonna cost ya though.”

He leans in, puckering up. Once he’s sufficiently kissed Jamie throws on a t-shirt and finds his boxers again. Angela remembers that she was about to text Lena when he came in with their cereal and searches the duvet for her phone. Texting Lena is a much needed distraction from her embarrassment, and she’s feeling better when Jamie returns with a tall glass of water. She forgoes a graceful sip to chug it down, thirsty from sweating so much.

“Need anything else?” he asks, right knee perched on the edge of the bed. Jamie looks adorably mussed and sleepy from coming, and she sort of wants to drag him back into bed so they can spend the rest of the day snuggling under the duvet. Unfortunately, the need to freshen up now that they’ve had so much sex is too great for Angela to ignore.

“I could really use a shower,” she says. It’s already mid-afternoon and while she’s happy to have a duvet day, she also wants to feel clean. “Providing it’s safe to go out.”

“Tch, you still worrying about that? I’ll fucking carry you over there m’self!”

“What—no, stop!”

Angela squeals when Jamie immediately scoops her up into his arms, an easy exhibition of his alluring strength. She clings onto him as he carries her out of the bedroom, loving how small and light she feels in his strong hold, and he looks smug when he gently lets her down.

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Jamie says, chest fluffed.

“Apparently not!” She’s flustered as she straightens out the hoodie. Jamie plucks what she hopes is a fresh towel off the rail for her.

“Want me to stay and make sure Roadie doesn’t come in?” he says. Angela quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Are you offering to stand guard for me?”

“’Course! S’not like I’m gonna watch ya shower or nothing,” Jamie says, feigning innocence.

“You are a terrible liar. It’s very sweet of you, but I think I’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” Jamie lowers his eyes and voice, adding, “More than happy to be your guard dog, Angie. I’ll even lick ya clean afterwards.”

She laughs, shooing him out when he grabs at her, and finally Angela is stepping into the bathtub. It’s strange using a foreign shower, especially one that isn’t particularly clean, but she’s so grateful for soap and hot running water that she can ignore the grime. Jamie insisted she could help herself to his shampoo and Roadhog’s conditioner. She needs to wash her hair, so she makes a mental note to purchase something for Roadhog in compensation for using his things and subjecting him to her obscene moaning. 

Angela is refreshed by the time she’s finished. She ruffles the towel through her hair, which smells more masculine than she’d like but feels soft thanks to Roadhog’s conditioner, before pulling the hoodie back on. Despite being dirty it’s comfortable for the time being and completely covers her when she dashes back into his bedroom.

Jamie’s lying in bed, naked again and poking at his phone. He immediately puts it down and opens his arms out to her, motioning for her to get back in with him. Angela stands by the bed and sets her hands on her hips instead. Now that she’s clean, she's uncomfortably aware of the smell in the room—an unpleasant mix of condoms, sex and sweat.

“I believe it’s your turn,” she says. Jamie waves his hand at her.

“Naaaah, m’alright. We’re only gonna get sweaty again.” He grins, patting the space beside him. “Back in bed, you!”

Hm. She was expecting this response. Angela folds her arms and cocks her hip. Jamie bites his lip and gives her an obvious once over, even though she’s wearing the hoodie. She isn’t immune to them yet, but it will take more than a hungry look from him for her to budge on this.

“As true as that may be,” Angela says, “you still need a wash.”

Jamie cringes.

“C’mon, babe, we’re s’posed to be having a lazy day.”

Babe is new for him, like he’s trying to butter her up with another petname. While admittedly very nice, it still isn’t enough.

“I’m not getting back in bed until you’ve bathed,” she says, airily. When Jamie scowls she lifts her eyebrows at him.

“Rrrrghh, fine then!” he snaps, hauling himself out of bed. Angela smiles at the way he towers over her when he stands up, and runs her hands appreciatively down from his shoulders and along his biceps. Gosh, she loves his arms.

“Thank you,” she says, tilting her head back. Jamie grumbles but bends down to kiss her anyway, like she’s forcing it out of him. Alone again, nestled in his bed with her handbag, Angela fishes out a comb and puts her hair into a messy updo before replying to another text that’s come through from Lena. Jamie takes longer than she thought he would, even factoring in the additional time required for the removal of his prosthetics. If it means he’s having a good scrub, Angela doesn’t mind. There’s enough power in her phone to browse some of her favourite clothing websites while she waits.

The sky outside darkens. Jamie’s phone has been buzzing occasionally on the bedside table, and the screen is lit up when she leans across to turn the lamp on. It’s tempting to peek at all the preview banners. She assumes they’re texts from friends, as he probably has many. But Angela doesn’t feel the need to invade his privacy like that, and with her own phone in hand it’s easy to ignore it. Jamie comes back in not long afterwards anyway, wearing the towel she used low around his hips. He takes it off and scrubs it through his hair once he’s closed the door. Angela allows herself the pleasure of gazing at his naked body, skin flushed and slick where he hasn’t fully dried off. She smiles at the silvery stretch marks along his hips when he sits near her on the edge of the bed.

“Good shower?” she asks.

“Bath, but yeah,” Jamie sighs. Angela can smell the soap on him when he reaches out to his bedside drawer, taking out a bottle of eyedrops.

“Oh,” she says. “You… you’re still using them?”

He puts a couple in. “Yup. Don’t need ‘em as often now though. S’more habit than anything else.”

Jamie blows out a breath when he puts the bottle back. Angela is so touched that he’s maintained her prescription after all this time that she shifts in the bed to hug him from behind, pressing her chest to his back. He makes a happy sound, hands coming up to hold her arms.

“You wanna go again?” Jamie asks, smirking over his shoulder at her. A glance between his legs tells her that he’s serious. Initiating sex appears to be his default response to her affection—that is, when he doesn’t avoid acknowledging it altogether. Angela is fine with taking the emotional side of this at a slower pace, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to give Jamie a gentle nudge in her preferred direction.

“Not right now. I was wondering if you’d like me to brush your hair, actually.”

Jamie’s smirk falters. “Oh. Er—sure, if ya want,” he says. His eyebrows knit together. “You’ll go easy, yeah? S’been a while.”

“I thought it might've been,” Angela says. “Lay down for me and I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

Jamie moves as requested, though he doesn’t meet her eyes even when his head is cushioned in her lap. Angela runs her fingers through his hair. He’s washed it, so it’s less tangled than before, but it’s clear that regularly brushing it is one of her recommendations he didn’t pursue. She’s gentle when she combs it, teasing out the knots and stroking through with her fingers as she goes. Jamie’s eyes close, breathing quiet and steady, and it’s enough for Angela to know that he’s beginning to relax. The last time she did this was months ago, after he'd crashed through the viewing deck in training.

 “Do you remember when I did this before?” she asks. Jamie snorts, eyes staying closed.

“’Course I bloody remember. Couldn’t forget something like that.” He shifts, rubbing his cheek against her thigh. “Feels better now than it did then though.”

“It does for me, too, knowing I don’t have to worry about picking out glass this time.”

Jamie snickers. “I’d do it all again y’know,” he says, sing-song. “If it meant impressin’ Miss Mercy!”

It feels like he’s using a playful tone to offset what he’s actually saying. Angela pauses, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. Jamie opens his eyes, upside down as he looks up at her. The smile on his face is soft and relaxed, so she leans down and kisses it. His pupils are dilated when she withdraws.

“You know, there was no need to hurt yourself like that, back then,” Angela says. “I was already impressed by you.”

“Yeah right,” Jamie says, eyes flicking away from her. “Sure y’were.”

“I thought it was quite obvious that you’ve done nothing but impress me since the day we first met.”

Angela watches the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. Perhaps this was a bit much for him. It probably should be for her, too. She isn’t afraid to admit it though. Angela wants him to know that she is impressed with him, that she has been from the start. She starts combing again when Jamie only seems to acknowledge it with a grumble, anyway.

“I think all the tangles are out now,” Angela says, after a while. “Thank you for letting me brush it.”

“Phew,” Jamie says. He seems reset, the lines on his face sharp where they were soft. “Wasn’t so bad. Might hafta keep it messy in future if it means I get a front row seat!”

Angela tilts her head. “A front row seat?”

“Yeah.” He reaches up and grabs her breasts through the hoodie. “To these big Swiss tits.”

Angela shoves his hands off, groaning. Jamie flips around and tackles her into the bed. She shrieks when he wrenches the hoodie up and over his head, diving between her breasts.

“Mmmmhhh,” he says, rubbing his face into them.

“Jamie!” Angela scolds, though he can probably hear her smile.

“Fuck chocolate,” he says, muffled under the hoodie. “Swiss pillows are _much_ better!”

“Oh, honestly, must you keep saying thi—”  

Jamie takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking until it peaks. Angela moans out, back arching automatically under his touch. It feels terribly good, but when he reaches down to slide a finger into her as well she winces, tensing up. Jamie withdraws instantly, hair ruffled and eyes wide when he pulls the hoodie back down.

“That hurt??”

“I, um—I think my body needs a break,” she says, smiling apologetically. “It’s a bit sore.”

“Shit.” Jamie sits back and rubs his neck. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m sorry I can’t,” Angela says, readjusting the hoodie. It’s slightly damp inside from his hair, feels cool on her skin. “I do want to, but we’ve done quite a lot in a short amount of time. You forget that it’s been a while for me.”

“Yeah, guess I did,” Jamie says, before grinning. “Easy to when you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Angela sighs, pleased as ever to hear this sort of thing from him, compliments that are becoming thrillingly frequent. His phone vibrates, making both of them look over to it. Jamie crawls over like he’s going to grab it, but instead he leans off the edge of the bed and hoists his laptop from the floor.

“Right,” he says, when he’s leaning back against the headboard with it in his lap. Jamie lifts his human arm and tips his chin at her. “Get over here, you. S’time to get comfy!”

Angela smiles at the attractive stretch of his boxer’s muscle. She goes immediately, and when she’s tucked in beside him with her cheek flat on his chest Jamie opens the laptop and brings it out of sleep mode. As soon as he enters his password the screen opens up to a rather unsavoury looking video entitled _HOT YOUNG_ _MILF GETS HER PUSSY DESTROYED!!!._ He chokes.

“Gosh,” Angela says. “That’s a big dick.”

Jamie’s fingers crash over the trackpad to click it off.

“Uhhh!” he says loudly. “Wow, how uh, how did THAT get on there?! Hoo boy, I’d _never_ watch ANYTHING like that!”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Angela says, patting his chest. “That’s why you have another... five, six tabs open.”

He scrambles to close the browser entirely. Jamie’s desktop is a mess of icons, with multiple dubiously-named video files and images. He rushes to open another browser instead. She can feel him looking at her, stiff like he’s waiting for her to shout at him, but Angela just laughs. With his libido being what it is, she’d be more alarmed if Jamie didn’t watch any porn, and it sort of explains some of the things he says when they are intimate together.

“I am not one bit surprised,” she says. “Though it is interesting that that’s the type of thing you’re searching for.”

Jamie’s body relaxes, his smile sheepish down at her.

“I mean, s’not the _only_ thing I search for,” he says, frowning.

“I’m not surprised by that either.” Angela leans up to him and pecks his cheek. “It doesn’t bother me, anyway.”

He kisses her head in return, mumbling a shy thanks against her hair, and goes to a more innocuous streaming site. She’s grinning to herself when he puts on a new sci-fi series for them to watch together, delighted that he’s offered to do something like—that he isn’t put out by her refusal to have anymore sex for now.

Jamie provides a running commentary while they watch, and he’s more critical than Angela was expecting him to be. Some of his sarcastic observations make her laugh, but she isn’t paying much attention to what they’re watching, content to simply lounge in his company. Cuddling him is so comfortable and relaxing that she almost feels like dozing right here on his chest. They’re a couple of episodes in when Jamie’s stomach starts rumbling.

“Think I need to eat,” he says, poking her side where his arm is curled around her. “Fancy a takeaway?”

“It’s been a long time since I had anything like that,” she says, smiling up at him. Jamie brightens.

“Wanna get some then?”

“I’d love to! What shall we have? Indian? Chinese?”

He wrinkles his nose at both of these suggestions.

“Was thinkin’ pizza. You up for that?”

“Ohh, yes! Providing I can get one with olives.”

“Fuck me, even your taste in pizza’s classy!” Jamie sighs, opening a new tab. Angela claws bluntly at his chest.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, using her best sultry voice. “I’ll be disappointed if there isn’t plenty of meat on it, too.”

 Jamie blinks down at her.

“If you’re trying to get me hard, Angie, you’re going about it the right bloody way.”

Angela hums. “So I can add food to my knowledge base of things you find sexually appealing?”

“Your ‘knowledge base’?” He laughs. “Okay, leeeet’s just go with you talking about meat instead. Don’t want you thinking I’ve got a food fetish as well!”

“As well as what?”

He leans down to her. “A fuckin’ Mercy fetish,” Jamie says, growling into her hair and making her giggle against his chest.

She has to extract herself from him when their order arrives, but it’s worth it when Jamie comes back in with two huge pizza boxes and a couple of beers. He uses his metal hand to pull off the bottlecaps and they sit cross-legged on his bed, watching another episode on his laptop. Beer and pizza was an indulgence back in college, so it’s an even rarer treat for her these days. It certainly isn’t something she ever pictured doing on a first date, which is essentially what today has turned into even though neither of them have acknowledged it as such.

Angela shouldn’t be this comfortable sitting here without any makeup on, hair a mess while she sips beer straight from the bottle, but she is. The last time she felt so relaxed lounging with anyone was with her ex. This lazy sort of night in only happened months into the relationship, when they were both too exhausted from studying to care about maintaining perfect appearances.

“Oh, they’re just taking the piss now!” Jamie says, gesturing at the laptop with his pizza crust. “Of _course_ they’re gonna run outta fuel!”

“Hey,” Angela says, reaching out to touch his left knee. Jamie turns just in time for her to lean in and catch his mouth in a kiss. He seems surprised when she pulls back.

“Thank you,” she says, looking at the sauce she’s transferred onto his lips.

“What—uh, what for?” he says, smiling.

Everything, Angela thinks.

“For finally giving us a first date,” she says instead, before kissing him again. Jamie kisses back this time, putting the crust down to cup her face. He tastes like beer and the meat feast pizza they’ve been sharing.

“S’hardly the most romantic first date though,” he says afterwards, giving a nervous laugh.

“I can’t think of anything more romantic than beer and pizza with you,” she says, gently. Jamie’s eyes darken.

“Oohhh, I think you'll find I can make it _much_ more romantic than this.”

He strokes both hands slowly over her thighs. Knowing that Jamie’s version of romance isn’t quite the same as hers, Angela shakes her head.

“Maybe later,” she says. “I’d rather just lay with you, for now. If that’s alright,” she adds, hopefully. Jamie holds her eyes for a moment.

“’Course it is,” he says. “Gotta take care of ya, haven’t I?”

“You’re doing an excellent job of it so far."

“Too bloody right I am. You just let me know anytime y’want me to _really_ take care of ya,” Jamie says, grinning. “Only takes me a second to get hard for ya.”

Angela laughs, wrapping her arms around his torso to cuddle him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, nuzzling his chest when he cuddles her back.

Once her phone is charging and her teeth are brushed she settles back in by Jamie’s side. Binge watching a series like this takes her back to being in college. It feels better than it did then without any assignments hanging over her head, though Angela knows it’s more because she’s with him. Jamie’s quieter now, not making so many comments, and eventually she finds it impossible to stop her eyes closing now that she’s this cosy snuggled up to him.

When she wakes up she’s still tucked in beside him, but Jamie’s laptop isn’t on the bed anymore and the lamp is off. The room is dark and cold around them. She’s delighted to have fallen asleep on his chest, still wearing his hoodie, but she has no idea what time it is. Angela’s phone is charging next to his on the bedside table, so she stretches her arm across his chest to grab it.

3:02am. Goodness. Her bodyclock must be completely broken after the last couple of days to wake up now.

Angela looks up at Jamie. His human arm is slung around her shoulders but his face is tilted away from her. He’s fast asleep, breathing slow and lips slightly parted. She squirms by his side, feeling that she’s wet when she slides her thigh over his and presses her lower half against him.

Waking up at such an awful hour would normally mean turning over and going straight back to sleep. Angela can’t, though, because her body is aching, feels like it’s on fire. She moves away from Jamie just long enough to pull the hoodie off, and then she’s completely naked, skin bare on his when she moves back.

“Jamie,” she whispers, rubbing his chest. He doesn’t stir until she does it again, face turning towards her and eyes cracking open.

“Nh—yeah?” he says, a soft croak. “S’up?”

She rolls her hips to grind the wetness against his thigh. Jamie’s eyes open a little more. Angela is afraid that she’s being totally unreasonable expecting him to oblige her at this hour, but he said anytime, and right now, her body is telling her that she needs him.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, I know it’s early,” she says. “But I—I think I’m ready again, if you wanted to.”

For a moment he doesn’t move, just stares down at her. When he frowns, Angela thinks he’s going to tell her to go back to sleep. Instead, Jamie presses her shoulders until she’s on her back, and even though he’s slow from only just waking up there’s an urgency to it when he rolls on top of her. His eyes are intense as he gazes down at her.

“Don’t care what time it is. Doesn’t matter,” Jamie says, hushed but firm. “Just tell me whatcha want.”

His cock is resting on her belly and she can feel that he’s not entirely soft, like he already knows what she’s going to say.

“I want you to fuck me,” Angela whispers. She tenses in preparation for his usual aggression now that she’s offering herself up like this. Jamie surprises her again when he leans down and tips her chin to meet him. He stops just before her lips.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” he murmurs back, and Angela’s chest tightens when he does kiss her, long and slow. He grinds his hips, cock hardening now that he’s rubbing himself over her belly, and then he’s parting her lips with his tongue to taste her. Angela whimpers into his mouth and slides her arms around his shoulders, needing Jamie’s body on her, in her. When his human hand skates down between her legs she pushes back on him.

“No foreplay,” she gasps, lips wet on his. “I don’t need any.”

“Jesus,” he breathes. “Wow, okay, just—hold on.”

It’s almost tempting to stop him when he pulls away. Angela bites her lip, watching him tug open the bedside drawer. Every second he’s not touching her is agony, but Jamie seems to know this, too, and he’s quick to tear the wrapper and pull the latex over his dick.

“You sure?” he asks, when he’s positioned between her legs. Jamie still doesn’t look fully awake, but even in the darkness of his room his lowered eyes burn into hers.

“Yes,” she says, spreading her legs for him. Jamie groans as he slides in, inch by inch, and Angela gasps out from being filled, because even though it’s a struggle to adjust after no foreplay her body is thirsty for him. Jamie pins her when he’s fully seated and drags her thighs up to his waist, encouraging her to anchor herself around him as he starts to move.

His pumps are shallow at first because it seems to be the quickest way of bringing her close. He fucks her through it when she comes, making it difficult to stay quiet, but she manages to hush her moaning into puffed breaths over his shoulder. Jamie fucks her harder afterwards, powerful thrusts that make his headboard bang against the wall behind them. Even with the duvet off them Angela is sweating with so much of his bare skin pressed on hers, but she keeps her legs crossed around his waist and her arms around his shoulders anyway, holding onto him while he ruts her into his bed.

“This what you needed? Huh? This fucking dick inside you?” Jamie asks, panting against her neck.

“No,” she gasps, pressing back on his shoulders. Jamie pauses, cock twitching where it’s still inside when he pushes up from her with a confused frown. Angela cups his face, watching as his eyes widen.

“I don’t need that,” she says, breathlessly, running her thumbs over his cheeks. “I need _you_.”

Jamie stares down at her. Angela doesn’t understand why he looks stricken, like hearing this is some big shock, because it should be obvious by now that it’s never been about the sex, it’s always been about him. He hesitates—doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself—but before he can pull away or hide Angela brings his face down to hers, drawing him into a kiss.

It takes a second for Jamie to kiss her back. He does, though, making a quiet sound against her mouth. When he starts thrusting again Angela doesn’t stop kissing him even though they have to gasp for breath as their lips meet and part, because it’s the closest he’s come to reciprocating when she’s said something like this. She isn’t expecting it when Jamie comes, bucking so hard she cries out, and the groan he gives is loud, a broken sound as it leaves his mouth. His thrusts slow until he stops, seated inside her while he drops down to her neck.

“Holy fuck,” he says, exhaling. His cheek grazes her neck as he nuzzles her, and Angela is startled to feel wetness on her skin only to realise it must be his sweat.

“That—that was quick,” she says, fingers threading through his hair and scritching his scalp now that she can’t kiss him anymore.

“Y—Yeah,” Jamie says. His chest is heaving, which seems unlike him as they haven’t been going for too long and he hasn’t been as rough as usual. When he doesn’t move immediately Angela starts worrying that something might be wrong, but then he shifts before she can ask, pumping his hips slow to keep stroking inside her.

“Don’t— _ah—_ don’t you want to stop?”

“Don’t ever wanna stop,” he says, voice so quiet and close to her ear that she shivers. Angela wishes he’d move so she could see his face. Jamie doesn’t lift away from her neck even when she nudges him, so she clenches her thighs to squeeze around him. He hisses, rolls his hips in answer.

“I don’t particularly— _nnh—_ want you to stop, either,” she admits.

“Not gonna,” Jamie says. “Not ‘til I make you come again.”

He starts to pull out only to snap back in, making Angela moan out his name, claw his hair.

“Think you can do that for me?” he asks, doing it again. “Come nice and hard to show me how good it feels?”

Angela moans a wordless agreement, and he lifts off her neck to resume pumping. Jamie’s much slower this time, no longer smacking into her, and he’s watching her now, hands either side of her head. His face looks damp, probably with sweat, but Angela’s eyes keep fluttering closed. She isn’t sure this is even fucking anymore it feels so different, slow and sensual, and she tucks her arms in by her side, fingers curled into his bedsheets. When the consistent grind between her legs gets her on the verge of coming she reaches for him, whimpering out a _please_ so he knows she’s ready. Jamie doesn’t hesitate, just swoops straight down to kiss her, and it’s finally enough to get her there, body enveloped in the blissful rush of coming again. God, he makes it so easy. It’s never been this easy with anyone.

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says, murmuring over her lips when he’s kissed her through it. “Didn’t think you’d come from this.”

“S’because s’you,” Angela says. She isn’t expecting to get an answer from him but she’s too drowsy to filter herself. Doesn’t want to now that she’s simmering in the warmth of how effortlessly he’s gotten her off in the middle of the night—his sweet intimacy with her, gentle when he’s been so rough.

“Fuck’s sake, Angie,” Jamie says. She brings her hands out of his hair to cup his face again, but he isn’t looking at her, eyes closed and brows drawn. He isn’t moving anymore. Why does he seem unhappy?

“Wha?” she asks, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Don’t tease me like this,” Jamie says, quietly. Angela is vaguely alarmed to hear that he sounds upset.

“M’not,” she says, willing herself to stay awake. Her eyelashes flutter when his lips brush her ear.

“I really fucking hope you’re not,” he whispers. “’Cause I can’t deal with what you’re doing to me right now.”

She wants to answer him—wishes she was awake enough to process whatever he’s trying to say—but all she can focus on is the fact that he’s kissing her again, refusing to pull out even though he finished ages ago.

Angela doesn’t know how long they go for afterwards. It might be a minute or an hour, but Jamie’s thrusts remain slow when he moves on her, and Angela doesn’t let go of him. The bedroom is still dark by the time he’s pulling out and collapsing beside her, though. She passes out the moment he does anyway, too exhausted and fulfilled to stay awake any longer herself.

When Angela does wake up again the room is lighter, and she feels groggier than she did yesterday. What time is it? She turns over to see Jamie curled away from her on his side. She forgot that she’d taken his hoodie off and Jamie seems to have most of the duvet wrapped around him, leaving her cold. He’s also too far away, so Angela shuffles across, pressing her chest to his back and tucking her arm under his to steal some of his warmth.

“Mmh,” he says, grumbling. Angela wasn’t trying to wake him up, but she moves away when he rolls over.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“S’alright,” Jamie says softly, not opening his eyes. When he’s on his back he motions with his head and raises his left arm for her, an automatic invitation to cuddle before he’s even woken up. Somehow Angela is relieved by this and curls into him, smiling when he squeezes her and his breath comes warm against her hair.

She’s content to doze on his chest for a while, brain cloudy from having broken sleep. Cuddling Jamie is a lovely extension of the afterglow from last night, and she’s fuzzy all over thinking about how he kissed her through it, the first time they’ve been intimate like that. When he shifts against her Angela wakes up a bit more, and she frowns, suddenly aware of the knot in her stomach.

It was so generous of Jamie to indulge her as he did, and the kisses were truly wonderful. But there’s a part of her that’s unreasonably disappointed by the way he seemed to shy away from returning her sentiment yet again, like he thought she wasn’t being serious.

 _Don’t tease me like this._ Why does he keep saying things like that?

“Jamie,” she says, unafraid of disturbing him this time. She gives his chest a gentle shake. It’s enough to rouse him, though his eyes are bleary when they open.

“M’awake,” Jamie says, mumbling. He drags his metal hand over his face before smiling down at her. “Shit, how’d I get this certifiable babe in my bed?”

Angela laughs despite herself. “I think your question is a day late. Unless you were expecting to see someone else?”

Jamie rolls over to pin her once again. He’s hard, of course. The knot in Angela’s stomach is preventing her from being particularly aroused by it, nice though it is to be in what’s become her usual position beneath him.

“Guess ya could say that,” Jamie says, voice gravelly where he’s still half asleep. “Some fucking minx was in here last night waking me up to get dicked.”

It isn’t very romantic when he puts it like that. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” she says, feeling a bit embarrassed.  

“Uh.” Jamie laughs, frowning. “I’m not. S’probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Angela has no frame of reference for the amount of hot things Jamie has experienced in his life, but it’s still pleasing to hear this. She’d like to think he isn’t joking.

“Do you mean it?” she asks, sort of wanting to hear that he isn’t. Jamie smiles incredulously.

“Babe, c’mon. You seriously asking me that?”

Angela chews her lip, looking away. She wants to needle him on how he was with her last night, but how can she broach the subject of what he said? He seems to be his usual confident self this morning. Angela doesn’t want to bother him if it’s his way of feeling things out between them, but she hopes he’ll reciprocate in a way that isn’t purely physical soon.

“You know I mean it. Bloody _loved_ it. S’never gonna be a time I won’t wanna dick ya,” Jamie says. He moves nearer, leans in close to her mouth. “So stop worrying, alright?”

Looks like he doesn’t need to discuss it. Angela doesn’t want to force him, and it isn’t like they aren’t making progress. She swallows her concern and meets him when he kisses her. Then her eyes snap open, and she jerks away from him.

“Did you forget to brush your teeth last night?” she asks, squinting.

“Er. Maaaybe,” Jamie says, nervously. “Was kinda wrapped up in uh, y’know, not disturbing the gorgeous woman who fell asleep on my chest!”

Angela exhales through her nose. This is apparently enough for Jamie to pull away from her.

“I’ll just—I’ll just be right back!” he says, pushing out of bed and looking around for some clothes to tug on.

When he leaves the room Angela sits up in bed. The smell of fried food coming from somewhere makes her stomach grumble, and she wonders if Roadhog might be making breakfast. Lunch, actually, according to the time on her phone. Angela still has no plans for today so it doesn’t seem too wasteful to be up so late. As her appetite has returned she might as well get out of bed and put Jamie’s hoodie on, looking forward to hopefully having some breakfast when he returns. Angela goes to fluff his pillows when she jolts at the feel of sticky plastic underfoot.

“Honestly,” she says, frowning as she bends to pick up one of the discarded condoms. When she looks around there are three more Jamie has left on the floor. He has a bin by his bedside table she drops them into, and then she looks for the accompanying wrappers. Three of them are purple, the same colour as the box he bought on Friday—but one of them is red. The brand and expiry date on it are different, too.

Oh. Well. It’s… it’s good that he has more than just the box he bought, because it’s a reflection of good sexual health awareness. But the immediate thought following this is how many other condoms Jamie might have – and how recently he’s needed to use them, too.

Angela purses her lips. It doesn’t matter. They aren’t even dating yet. There’s no reason for her stomach to churn so horribly when she should be pleased that he’s careful about using protection.

“Is Roadhog cooking something?” she asks, putting on a bright smile when Jamie comes back. She’s made his bed and pulled on the pair of boxers he’d given her yesterday.

“Yeah, he always does a Sunday fry up,” Jamie says, leaning against the doorway. “Fancy some?”

The thought of facing Roadhog after everything they’ve done is embarrassing, but what would be more embarrassing, and rude, is if Angela completely avoids him for the entire time she’s here.

“Yes please. If you don’t think he’ll mind,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It’s wavy where she slept in the updo, needs brushing again.

“Nah, ‘course he won’t!” Jamie says. He gestures for her to come over. “C’mon, let’s get some grub!”

He laces his human fingers in hers and leads her downstairs. Angela finds this incredibly sweet, like he’s about to introduce her to Roadhog for the first time. Worryingly, it reminds her of when she was introduced to her ex’s parents at his cousin’s wedding. Probably not the most ideal of comparisons to be drawing right now, but the scent of breakfast is a pleasant distraction as they come to the kitchen.

Roadhog is taking up most of it simply through standing by the oven. He’s in a vest and slacks, poking at something in the frying pan. Angela is surprised to see that he isn’t wearing his mask, but she knows she shouldn’t be considering he’s in his own home. It’s jarring nonetheless when it’s been months since she saw him without it, his medical exam a long time ago now. Somehow he’s more intimidating like this, a reinforcement that she’s outside the protective shell of Jamie’s bedroom.

“Gooood morning!” Jamie sings. Angela tenses when Roadhog turns to face them.

“Morning,” he says, tipping his chin at her in acknowledgement. “Doc.”

“Good morning,” she says. “Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful.”

“Full English,” he says, turning back to the oven.

Jamie pulls out a chair for her at the table. Their kitchen is cluttered, but the surfaces she can see appear to be clean. There are lots of magnets on the refrigerator and cooking utensils spread over the counter and on racks. Angela doubts they’re used much by Jamie, though. He’s never indicated any interest in cooking in all the time they’ve spoken.

“How much longer?” he asks, hovering around Roadhog. “Bloody starving!”

“It’s ready,” Roadhog says, without looking up. “Get the plates.”

Jamie grabs some from the cupboard and piles them with an assortment of fried food. It’s charming when he sets one down for her with a kiss on her cheek, but she’s grateful that Roadhog is busy dishing out his own breakfast and doesn’t see them. She doesn’t want to parade their affection in front of him, self-conscious about how little she’s wearing and how obvious it is that they’ve been having so much sex.

“Wow,” Angela says, staring at everything on her plate. There’s bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns. Fried mushrooms and tomatoes. She chuckles when Roadhog sets an additional plate of toast and a pack of butter in the middle of the table, glad that these two seem to have such a healthy appetite.

Roadhog joins them, and they all tuck in. What he’s cooked is very tasty, but it isn’t until Angela tries the bacon that she’s disappointed to realise it isn’t real.

“Is this imitation meat?” she asks. Somehow she was expecting a full English cooked by Roadhog to include proper sausages and bacon – lots of it, too. His brows furrow at her.

“I don’t eat pork,” he says.

“Oh,” Angela says, feeling silly for asking. Of course he doesn’t.

“Not _quite_ as good as the real thing, but the imitation stuff’s alright,” Jamie sighs. “Used to it now.”

“Well, I can’t remember the last time I had a fry up. It’s delicious,” Angela says, offering Roadhog a shy smile. “Thank you so much for cooking it.”

Roadhog doesn’t smile back, but his eyes soften slightly.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

Jamie catches her attention by brushing his human foot on hers. He’s grinning at her, metal elbow on the table with his chin resting in his palm. Angela smiles back at him, something about the way he’s looking at her making warmth stir in her chest. When he starts telling Roadhog about the series they were watching last night she’s relieved at how normally he’s behaving, as though all of this is completely natural. Roadhog doesn’t seem bothered by her presence, either. In truth, Angela wasn’t really expecting him to treat her too differently, but his casual acceptance is a weight off her shoulders after worrying so much.

If someone told her back in the summer that she’d be having breakfast with Junkrat and Roadhog, wearing Junkrat’s hoodie after spending the last day and half in Junkrat’s bed, Angela would’ve laughed it off as utterly ludicrous. Strangely, and despite her self-consciousness, she feels more comfortable here at the table than she was anticipating, enjoying Jamie’s chatter and Roadhog’s periodic responses. It’s heartwarming to be included in their personal lives like this. She can’t help privately hoping that this could become more than just a one-off occasion, though.

“Oh, um. Is there any coffee, by the way?” Angela asks, when they’re finished. It’s been a while since she had any caffeine.

“We’re out of milk,” Roadhog says.

“Ah shit, s’my bad,” Jamie says. Suddenly he springs to his feet. “No worries, I’ll grab some from the shop!”

Angela notices Roadhog’s eyebrows lift up.

“Oh—Jamie, it’s fine,” she says, trying to wave it off. “I’m used to having it black.”

“No no, I got this!” he insists, hands on his hips. “Can’t have a proper coffee without milk. S’no problem!”

“If you’re going to Tesco, I’ve got a list.” Roadhog reaches into his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper. Jamie swipes it off him.

“Alright, leave it with me. Can I getcha anything else?” he says, addressing her. His voice softens a little when he does, something else that makes Angela smile.

“I’m fine for now, thank you.” She’ll buy something for Roadhog later on rather than ask Jamie to do it.

“Right, I’ll go now then.”

Just as Jamie turns to leave, he pauses and swings around again. Angela gives an _mph!_ when he swoops down and pulls her into a long, sweet kiss, both hands cupping her face.

“Be as quick as I can,” he says, over her lips. “Anything ya need, just text me, yeah?”

“I—yes, I will,” she says, startled from being kissed like that. Her face must be on fire because Jamie smirks like he’s exceptionally pleased with himself when he withdraws. He heads out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with Roadhog.

“Better start cleaning up,” he sighs, pushing up from the table.

“Oh, here, let me,” she says hurriedly, reaching for the plates. “Is there a dishwasher?”

“There is, but it’s crap. They’ll need rinsing.”

Angela collects the plates and cutlery and carries everything to the sink. Roadhog gently nudges past her to fill the kettle with water. She watches him scoop a couple of mugs from the draining board before taking a box of teabags from the cupboard.

“You don’t take milk either?” she asks.

“Not in tea,” he says.

“Ah.”

Roadhog puts the kettle on before passing her the frying pans, and Angela begins rinsing through the pile. She’s happy to be occupied doing something helpful, but it doesn’t take long for the silence to become oppressive.

“I’m, um. I’m terribly sorry if I’ve disturbed you at all,” she says, timidly. Angela keeps her eyes on the sink until she can feel his on her. When she looks up at him, there’s a small but knowing sort of grin on Roadhog’s face.

“Gets him off my case,” he says. Angela laughs, passing a plate for him to load into the dishwasher.

“He’s certainly a handful.”

Roadhog gives an amused _tch_. It’s just enough of an agreement to alleviate Angela’s worry, and she smiles down at the sink, rinsing and handing things over to Roadhog one by one. Goodness, she feels much better for getting that off her chest.

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of the hoodie when there are a few things left.

“Oh,” she says, when she pulls it out. It’s Jamie.

_Arvo :P how’s it going?_

She starts thumbing out a one-handed response, her other hand still holding a plate. Roadhog carefully takes it from her. He shakes his head when she starts to object.

“I got it,” he says, tipping his head towards the door. “Tell Rat he’d better follow that list to a fucking T.”

Angela stares up at him for a moment.

“Will do,” she says, briefly resting her hand on his arm to try and convey some of her gratitude. He doesn’t look at her, just grins, and then she’s dashing back up to Jamie’s bedroom, typing quickly. It’s oddly exciting to be texting him again in light of all that’s happened.

_Very well thank you. How’re you doing?_

_Lol not bad ta_  
_Thought I’d best tell you though_  
_Pulled the fittest fucking bird this weekend ;)_

Fittest fucking bird. Of all the compliments she’s received in her life, Angela is impressed that Jamie has somehow managed to find one she’s never heard before.

_If I hadn’t lived in England for so long I wouldn’t know what on earth that means.  
I do, however, so now I must ask: who is this ‘fittest bird’ you’re referring to?_

_Oh just this fucking babe I met at my work’s Christmas do lol :P_

Angela bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. She didn’t expect his teasing to make her stomach flip just the same as it did when they first started messaging each other.

_The fittest bird AND she’s a ‘fucking babe’ too? How lucky for you!_

_Not jealous are we Angie? ;)_

_I certainly would be if I hadn’t spent the last 36 hours in bed with the fittest man._

Jamie starts writing, then stops, then starts again. Angela guiltily hopes that he’s flustered.

 _Fuck lol  
Got me there!_   he writes, indicating that he is.

_I have indeed got you. ;)_

Jamie doesn’t reply for a while after this. Angela assumes it’s because he’s shopping. After a few minutes of mindless browsing on her phone, a photo comes through of his metal hand holding a plastic box. It contains two fluffy looking meringues. The product description on it says _2 GIANT SWISS MERINGUES_. Angela sighs, reading Jamie’s message below it.

_Guess I don’t need to buy these as I’ve got some at home waiting for me ;)_

_Lovely,_ she writes back. _Roadhog says you’d “better follow that list to a fucking T”, by the way._

_Hope you haven’t been flirting with him!!_

_Or what? You’ll punish me?_

_Yeah lol with my fucking dick ;)_

She snorts. _That’s sort of what I was implying._

_Doesn’t hurt to tell you though ;)_

_I must admit, I do like hearing it._

_That’s cause you’re a dirty girl ;)_

Angela shivers, amazed that this is so arousing even through text.

_*Your dirty girl._

He takes much longer to respond to this. Angela flops on Jamie’s bed, scrolling up to the last messages they exchanged while she waits. The timestamps are from the evening before the Christmas party, the _goodnight x_ they sent to one another before this whole thing happened. Before the bracelet. Before their first kiss.

Angela swallows around the lump that’s emerged in her throat. It’s so cute that he’s texting her like this, but it’s also a bittersweet reminder of all the problems they’ve had prior to reaching this point. The distance and time spent apart, everything they’ve gone through to get here. So many train journeys where she’d wait to see those dots appear in Jamie’s chatbox. All those nights when she’d stare at her phone, longing to see that _x_ before going to bed.

Her chest tightens, scrolling further to read the rest of their recent messages under the new lens of knowing that he felt the same. Angela knows it’s best to wait until he gets back from New Zealand as she doesn’t want to overwhelm him, but it’s dawning on her that there’s still too much that’s been left unsaid despite having finally confessed to one another.

 _Mmmmm ;)_ Jamie writes, eventually. It’s as disappointingly avoidant as every other reaction he’s had to any indication she’s given of wanting him, wanting to be his. Angela is about to reply when another text comes through.

 _Sure you don’t want anything btw_? _Last chance before I go :P_

She isn’t sure if Jamie’s prepared to hear what she wants to say. He hasn’t been every other time she’s intimated the same thing. As she’s actually getting emotional about this, however, Angela sends it anyway.

_I only want you._

Jamie stuns her by replying immediately.

_Lol well in 15 short minutes I will be all yours ;)_

He still isn’t getting this. Angela tries again.

 _I can’t wait 15 minutes,_ she writes back, but even this is not enough.

Maybe it will be too much for him. She knows Jamie’s comfort in all of this is paramount. But her own is important as well, and Angela needs some acknowledgement of this thing between them before he leaves, otherwise the next two weeks are going to be torture. She texts him again, not holding back this time.

 _I’ve done nothing but wait for you._  
_15 minutes or not, I’ve missed you too much as it is._  
_I don’t want to wait anymore.  
_

The nervous anticipation as she waits for his response is something she never thought she’d feel again now that they’ve confessed – kissed, fucked even. But sure enough, it’s there in her stomach, the most awful, wonderful dread as she waits to see him type. It takes a while for the dots to appear. Almost as soon as they do, Jamie’s message pops up.

_10 minutes._

Good. He knows she’s being serious. Angela’s hand is jittery as she types out her reply.

_Thank you. x_

Jamie doesn’t text her again. Angela gets up off the bed to start pacing. She’s nervous, continually checking her homescreen to look at the time. Nine minutes after his last text, there’s the muffled slam of the front door followed by talking in the kitchen. Angela fans the hoodie and runs her fingers through her hair. Then he’s coming up the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Jamie’s hair is windswept. He’s still wearing his jacket, breathing quick where he must have rushed to get back.

He looks angry.

“Done nothing but wait, have you?” he asks, voice low as he steps over to her. Angela bristles, but she isn’t afraid of him, stays right where she is. It seems like he’s finally ready to talk.

“Don’t think you know what it means to fucking wait.” Jamie tugs off his jacket, throws it on the floor. “What it means to sit there all day hoping for a fucking—smiley face. Some—I don’t know, some _hint_ that maybe you weren’t just taking the fucking piss!”

Angela’s heart feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest. He’s right in front of her now, tall, threatening. She gasps when Jamie takes her face in his hands.  
  
“I’ve spent half a year telling myself this was never gonna happen and feeling fucking _stupid_ about it the entire time!” he says, the words ground out. He still looks angry, scowling down at her, but her breath catches in her throat from the softness she can see burning behind his eyes.

“So y’know what? You don’t get to tell me how long you’ve fucking waited!"

His mouth crashes down on hers. Angela’s arms fly around his waist, fingers gripped in the t-shirt covering his back, and Jamie makes a frustrated sound against her, kissing hungrily, angrily.

“You don’t think I was doing exactly the same thing?” she asks, whispering when they break. If she speaks any louder she might start to cry. “Waiting on every text? Thinking I was foolish for daring to believe you might’ve felt the same way? I’m sorry for ever making you think that I was—taking the piss, but I was scared of exactly the same thing.”

Jamie laughs, a choppy breath over her lips.  Angela goes up on her toes to press their foreheads together.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Angie!” he says. His eyes are shining, wet. “How the fuck wasn’t it so bloody obvious to you that I’ve been mad for you since day one? Since you fucking—touched my face in your office?"

“Oh my god,” she says, choking. 

“Yeah.” Jamie laughs again, an unhappy sound. “And then—and then you left. Couldn’t even steal a single fucking kiss before y‘went.”

Angela sobs before she can stop herself, a bubble of all the things she wants to tell him.

“Bloody woman,” Jamie mutters, closing his eyes again. “Only person I ever wanted to see in that fucking place and y’get sent five thousand miles away from me! No idea how much I missed you. No _fucking_ idea.”

He kisses her again, harder. When he pulls back Angela can’t stop the tears from spilling over. It’s only now that she’s realised just how much she’s needed to hear all of this, and she feels opened up by it, by him.

“I missed you too,” Angela says, voice breaking. “All I wanted was to come home and have our date. See what it would be like if you did kiss me. I thought about it every day. Sometimes it was all I could think about.”

“Fuck,” Jamie says, grimacing. He presses back on her forehead, seems like he’s trying to stop himself from crying.

“I wish I’d told you before,” Angela says, clutching his back. “I just—I’m so happy that I’m here with you right now, I didn’t—don’t want to be away from you anymore. I don't want you to think I haven't wanted this.”

Jamie tugs her into another kiss. He guides them over to the bed, but Angela’s the one who pulls him onto it, laying down so he can straddle her. His t-shirt is cold where he’s been outside, but his skin is warm when she slides her hands underneath it, and she digs her nails into his back to keep him from moving while they kiss. He’s still holding her face, fingertips grazing the delicate skin behind her ears, and Angela tries to pour the last however many months of yearning into it, left gasping by the time they part.

“I’m sorry for ever making you feel stupid about any of this,” she says, gazing up at him. “I promise that was never my intention.”

“I know it wasn’t.” Jamie’s smile is an uncertain line on his face as he brushes her tears away. “Don’t hafta say sorry, I—I get it, you were scared.”

Angela extracts her hands from inside his t-shirt, reaching up to stroke through his hair instead.

“I’m not scared anymore,” she says, gently.

“Good. S’no need to be.” Jamie brushes his nose over hers. “Just wanna look after you.”

Angela laughs, almost sobbing again, because it feels like this is it, that he’s about to say what she’s so hoping to hear. _Go out with me._

“I want to look after you, too,” she says. “I mean everything I’ve said. I really do want you.”

“Jesus,” he whispers, eyes flicking away from her.

“I understand that it might be a lot to take in,” she says, trying to soften it for him, but Jamie winces, like it’s somehow a step too far even though she’s meeting him halfway.

“Look, Angie,” he starts, a tremble in his voice that makes her stomach lurch.  “I—can’t just, fucking.”

He pauses, chewing his lip. His eyes aren’t wet anymore, but he looks panicked.

“What is it?” she asks, panicked too now. “Jamie, talk to me.”

He’s been more open and receptive in the last few minutes than he has all weekend. Angela can’t believe she’s having to coax him to speak now, but he’s clearly struggling with something, and she can’t help him if she doesn’t know what it is.

“I’m—I dunno, I can’t.” Jamie’s still not looking at her. Angela’s stomach knots, waiting. Then he adds, so quietly, “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“How could you ever fuck this up?” she asks, confused. Jamie makes a frustrated sound.

“’Cause I'm no good at any of this!” he says, snapping. “Didn’t think it was gonna happen, and now it’s—I’m fucking it up before it’s even fucking—”

“You’re not fucking anything up,” she says. Angela looks at him searchingly, willing him to listen. “I said I couldn’t wait, but—I’m happy to just be with you like this. It doesn’t have to be complicated. There’s no pressure.”

She runs her thumbs over his cheeks, trying to soothe him. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but Jamie seems to choke on it, swallowing it down.

Angela smiles sadly at him. As much as she wants to take the next step, it’s painfully evident that Jamie isn’t ready. Forcing him to commit is the last thing she wants to do.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” she says. “You don’t need to worry about anything now, not when you’re about to leave. Maybe when you come back from New Zealand we can start taking things one step at a time. Two weeks is nothing in comparison to what we’ve been though.”

Jamie looks at her for a long moment.

“Does that sound okay to you?” she adds, hopefully.

He goes to say something, then stops himself, again. He shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “I—yeah, sure. Alright.”

Jamie purses his lips, drags his metal hand over his neck. Angela hesitates. He doesn’t sound sure. Doesn’t look sure, either, but just as she takes a breath to poke him again his phone starts ringing.

It’s on the floor, vibrating from the pocket of his jacket. She thinks he’s going to ignore it, but Jamie swears and drags himself off the bed. Angela sits up. She doesn’t want him to answer it, though she supposes the conversation is over now anyway.

“Sorry,” Jamie says, silencing the ringing. He drops his phone back onto the jacket. “I’d, uh. Set an alarm for the cricket. Wouldna stopped for another ten minutes.”

Angela blinks at him. “For—the cricket?”

“Yeah, uh.” Jamie smiles sheepishly at her, scratching his cheek. “It’s the third test today. ‘Straya playing England.”

“Oh,” Angela says. She never thought Jamie would enjoy something like cricket. Somehow it’s very endearing that he does. He seems embarrassed when he sits with her again, flustered from the interruption.

“S’alright, doesn’t matter,” he says. Jamie rubs his hands over his thighs like he’s still agitated about everything, so Angela rests hers over his, trying to calm him.

“It—no, it’s alright,” she says. When he stops rubbing she squeezes his hands. “I never expected you to be a cricket fan.”

“Shit,” Jamie says, eyes going wide. “Didn’t I tell ya? I fuckin’ LOVE cricket!”

Angela giggles, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. He frowns.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, indignantly.

“Sorry.” She has to bite her lip to stop herself giggling even more. Jamie’s gone red. “It’s just. Of all the sports you could like.”

“Yeah?” he says, looming forwards. He’s grinning. “What about it?”

“I don’t know,” Angela says, leaning away from him knowing the wrath she’s about to incur. “It just seems so… boring.”

“Boring?! Oh, you are bloody in for it now!”

Angela squeals when Jamie pounces. He starts tickling her, a brutal attack that has her twisting away from him and pleading through laughter to stop. She’s sensitive to being tickled as it’s been years since anyone did, and Jamie laughs over her, merciless as he tackles her into the bed and alternates between tickling her arms and waist. Angela writhes and jerks against him to try and escape, but he’s so strong that she resorts to begging.

“Please,” she says, gasping out from how much she’s laughing. “Jamie, stop!”

He finally relents, hands still on her waist.

“Fuckin’ teach you to not slander the greatest sport in the world!” Jamie huffs. He’s smirking though, seems like himself again. Angela purses her lips.

“I’m sure my grandfather would’ve agreed with you,” she says, helplessly. Jamie’s eyes narrow.

“Right, that’s it!”

He dives into her again, though he’s groping more than he is tickling now, hands roaming all over her while he growls into her neck. The hoodie ruches as he shoves it up to expose her breasts, pinching her nipples with flesh and metal fingers. Angela’s laughter breaks into a moan when he sucks both of them in turn, when his human hand slides around to squeeze her ass, cock hard in his shorts as he grinds between her legs.

They’re not playfighting anymore. Eventually he reaches for a condom. Angela pulls the hoodie off, dragging him down onto her when they’re both naked and he’s wrapped. Jamie isn’t as loving as last night, back to panting his usual dirty talk against her neck while pounding into her. Angela comes the same way she has done every other time they’ve fucked so far, a rapidly growing tally in a very short amount of time, but it niggles when he doesn’t kiss her again. He probably needs to build up to that sort of intimacy being a regular thing, in light of their conversation just now.

She’s happy to enjoy a fun fuck like this anyway, hungry for him after reliving months spent apart. It’s a shame that he isn’t ready yet, but Angela understands it’s also completely fair that Jamie needs more time. Hopefully it’s a conversation he’ll want to have soon after New Zealand. Until then, it’s still wonderful to share this intimacy. That they’ve once again made progress, acknowledged and broached the subject, sort of.

An hour later when he’s peeled off the condom and Angela is tugging his hoodie back on, she notices the wrapper he’s left on the floor. Her stomach untangles itself when she picks it up and turns it over. It’s another purple one, not red, but she wishes this wasn’t such a relief in the first place.

Jamie stands behind her and bends down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Pleeease watch the cricket with me,” he whimpers. “I _really_ wanna see England get destroyed!”

Angela laughs, turning to him. He’s giving her his best puppydog eyes.

“Alright, alright.” She pats his broad shoulders. “You’ll have to explain the rules to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single game in my life.”

She only regrets asking this when it’s already too late, lovely though it is being cuddled into Jamie on the couch downstairs, wrapped up and cosy in his duvet. While Angela does her best to take it in his detailed explanation proves difficult to follow. She’s probably struggling to concentrate because they’ve only just had sex. It’s been an amazing weekend with him, but physically and emotionally draining as well.

Jamie is skittish watching the match, legs bouncing the entire time. Angela still fails to see what’s so riveting about the game for him. His reactions are fun to watch, though, and she loves that he’s passionate about it, smiling whenever he says something she doesn’t understand. It’s impossible to tell if some of the things coming out of his mouth are cricket terms, Australian slang, or just Jamie being Jamie. Whatever it is, it means she gets to hear more of his adorable accent, so Angela is quite content to stay curled up with him, only vaguely trying to follow the game itself.

The match lasts for hours. She dozes on and off for the rest of the afternoon, alternating between his shoulder and chest depending on how absorbed he is in the game. Angela is startled awake when suddenly he jumps up.

“Hell yeah! Nice one, lads!”

“Did—did they win?” she asks, blinking. He’s ecstatic when he looks around at her.

“It ain’t over yet, but we’re leading three-nil! Won by an innings and 41 runs!”

Angela can’t even pretend to know what this means, but she smiles up at him anyway.

“Brilliant!” she says. Jamie turns back to the TV and throws his arms out.

“Tracer can suck my fuckin’ diiick!” he says, announcing it to the English cricket team currently walking off the field.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be on the cards,” Angela says, cringing at him when he flops back next to her. Jamie tugs her into a tight squeeze of a cuddle that knocks the breath out of her.

“Oof!”

“I can _assure_ you I only meant it in the most metaphorical of senses, my sweet, beautiful Angie,” he says, sighing blissfully. Angela laughs.

“Wow, you really do love cricket, don’t you?”

“Oh, so much,” he sniffs. “And so does she, so any victory I get to hold over that snotty head of hers makes me--”

“Do _not_ tell me you’re going to come from this,” Angela warns.

“Nah,” Jamie laughs. His eyes are lidded, grin wolfish when he pulls back. “I’m saving that for when you’re back in bed. Think a celebratory fuck is in order after a game like that!”

“Charming,” she says, ignoring the hot rush this sends through her body. “We should probably have something to eat first.”

“Gahh, alright. Go get y’self up those stairs and I’ll bring ya some dinner.”

Back in his bedroom, Angela straightens out his duvet and checks her phone. Jamie’s is still on his jacket on the floor, screen lit up with yet another notification for something. If all these messages were that important she doubts Jamie would’ve left his phone upstairs, so Angela ignores it too, typing out a message to Lena.

Dinner turns out to be beans on toast. It’s exactly the type of meal she pictured Jamie making and seems to fit with the rest of his student-esque living habits. After they’ve eaten, Angela has a shower before settling down for the rest of the evening, comfortably snuggled in his hoodie and on his chest. Jamie puts the series from last night back on. He’s in an excellent mood following the game, chatty and affectionate while they watch. It’s getting later, but she dozed enough during the afternoon that she isn’t sleepy now, thirsty to stay awake with him as he’s leaving for New Zealand tomorrow.

Angela is too relaxed to be particularly sad about this, unwound after an especially lazy afternoon and feeling much better about things after their talk earlier. It’s reassuring that Jamie’s fear of fucking up seems indicative of a real desire to commit, and his feelings are clear despite his hesitance. If he’s as inexperienced in the emotional side of this as he seems, Angela will simply have to find some way of reassuring him in kind, something that can wait until after he’s back. She promised herself one uncomplicated weekend, after all. He probably needs one too.

“When do you need to be at the airport?” she asks, curled in on his chest. The episode they’re on is almost finished.

“Won’t be leaving here til the afternoon,” he says, kissing her head. Angela slides her hand over the smooth skin of his chest and abs, then further, until her fingers brush over the base of his dick. He’s soft, surprisingly.

“Maybe we should make the most of the time we have,” she says, looking up at him. Jamie’s eyes light up.

“Woah,” he says. “You wanna go now?”

Apparently his libido is rubbing off on her, because she does. A side effect of how incredible he’s made her feel, most likely.

“Well, you did mention something about celebrating your good cricket match.” Angela grins at him. “Do you want to?”

It’s a silly question, one which ends in Jamie’s laptop on the floor and his headboard banging against the wall. Angela tries to stay quiet, aware of Roadhog’s presence somewhere downstairs, but Jamie doesn’t seem to care.

“Speak up for me,” he says, goading while he fucks her. “M’not gonna— _ngh—h_ ear that sweet fuckin’ voice for the next two weeks!”

“I—I can’t,” she gasps, “not—not when he’s downstairs!”

“Come on, Angie, show me,” Jamie says, voice rough now, snarling. “Show me how much you’re gonna fuckin’ miss me!”

Oh, _god_. Angela clings to his back and wails, the worry of being heard eclipsed by the need to give him what he wants. Jamie responds by sucking hard on the delicate skin of her neck like he’s trying to mark her, and then finally his mouth is on hers again, tasting all the indecent sounds she’s making for him, drinking them down like he needs them to breathe.

Now that he’s kissing her again she can’t imagine going without this for the next two days, let alone two weeks. Angela clenches her thighs around him and grips his hair, some vain attempt to lay claim to him even though he’s the one laying claim to her. Jamie fucks her until she comes for him, and when she does it’s devastating, entire body tensing in the effort to hold onto him, ride it out until he has to leave her again. She wishes he didn’t have to go, wishes she could tell him without being afraid of scaring him off. 

Angela’s breathing is ragged, hoarse from how loud she’s been, and by the time she's letting go of him she’s boneless, grateful for the mattress when she falls back against it. She wants to believe that he hasn't fucked anyone else like this, even though she knows he wouldn’t be this good if he hadn't. It’s all she can think of until Jamie crashes beside her. He’s panting to get his breath back, but he still reaches out with his human arm to tug her against him, kisses her forehead even though it’s damp with sweat. Then there’s nothing but the warmth of his body, and all Angela can think of now is skipping the next two weeks so that she might be able to stay another night, and then another, and another, if it means she gets to feel like this.

Sleep hits her fast. When Angela stirs again she feels cold, wondering where the heat of Jamie’s body has gone. She blinks awake and finds he isn’t lying beside her, he’s sitting up with his back to her. Looks like he’s hunched over the side of the bed, and there’s the bright glare of what must be his phone illuminating his side of the bedroom. The lamp is off and the blinds are drawn.

“Jamie?” she says, a soft mumble as she shifts over, reaches out to touch the small of his back. When he doesn’t move, Angela sits up and rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”

He doesn’t answer her either, so she grabs her phone off the bedside table to squint at her homescreen. 3:16am. She isn’t horny this time, probably woke up through being cold.

“I, uh. I got a text,” Jamie says.

He’s quiet. Something’s wrong.

“Oh?” she asks, moving to sit beside him. Jamie’s staring down at his phone, legs bouncing and a deep frown etched over his face. He doesn’t look up at her even when she gives his human arm a gentle squeeze. “Has something happened?”

Jamie takes a deep breath, then exhales it. Angela’s stomach drops in the pause that follows.

“I fucked some girl while you were in Japan and she’s just messaged me again,” he says.

“You—what?” Angela says, laughing it out.

“Yeah. Thought I’d blocked her number but I forgot.” He tosses his phone onto the floor, a heavy thunk over wood, and then the room is dark again. Finally he does look at her, and his eyes are shining like they were earlier. Angela rejects her instinctive reaction to reach out and hug him.

“Why?”

It’s about the only thing she can say right now, and even then it’s a breath, fragile when it leaves her throat. Jamie looks away from her again, down to the floor.

“‘Cause I was horny? Cause I’m a fucking—piece of shit?”

He laughs, even though he isn’t joking and none of this is funny.

“I mean, it was only the once, with her. Not that that makes it any better, I still fucked her.”

With her? Angela immediately thinks about all the notifications he’s had on his phone in the short time she’s been here.

“How many others?” she asks, voice strangled around it, because she needs to know. She can hear the shake in it when Jamie blows out a breath.

“Dunno,” he says, dismissively. “Five? Ten? Wasn’t keeping count. S’not like any of ‘em mattered.”

Nausea lunges upwards from her stomach into her throat. It doesn’t seem real that this is happening. That Jamie would sleep around, that he'd hide something like this from her. The worst part of it is that she isn’t actually surprised by it, thinking of the condoms, the warnings from Lena. His reluctance to commit. The signs were all there, and she thought she was okay with it, having an inkling that this is the sort of thing he did. But it hurts hearing this, as though she’s seeing the other side of him when all she’s known is the only side he’s wanted her to see.

“Have you fucked anyone else recently?” Angela asks, afraid of the answer. Jamie shakes his head and the nausea halts, cold and heavy as it seeps back down into the pit of her stomach.

“She was the last one. Couldn’t face it anymore after that, wasn’t worth feeling like shit afterwards.”

Angela wants to believe this more than anything, but she’s struggling.

“So you haven’t—haven’t slept with her again?” she asks, hesitantly.

“You wanna hear the truth?” Jamie asks, staring at her, almost accusing. “You really wanna know?”

She doesn’t, but she nods. Angela’s heart stops in the silence that falls between them.

“I _really_  fucking wanted to, ‘cause I thought it would be enough if I couldn’t have you.”

Jamie’s sad smile at her and the little laugh he gives are almost too much to bear.

“Turns out it wasn’t enough. So I didn’t. You’re the only fucking woman I want anymore.”

Angela’s throat closes up. She never thought it would hurt this much to hear what she’s been longing for him to say, but it does.

“That’s the fucking truth,” Jamie says, looking away again, to the wall on his other side. “Don’t expect you to believe it, but there it is.”

Her teeth chatter. The hoodie is on the floor, a heaped pile of cloth where she’d pulled it over her head when they had sex before she fell asleep. She stares at it, missing its warmth now that she can’t cuddle up to Jamie. When she goes to pull some of the duvet over her Angela notices a cool weight on her wrist – the bracelet she still hasn’t taken off.

It hurts that he would do this while she was away, in the midst of all their texting, their growing closeness. But then, why wouldn’t he? How was he to know that she was waiting for him? Jamie has given her so much, and even now he’s giving her his honesty, another part of himself regardless of how much it hurts to hear it.

In all of this time, what has Angela given him?

“Shoulda told you before,” Jamie says, muttering to himself. He dips his head into his metal hand, grinds his temples with metal fingers. “Shoulda told you a lotta shit before, I guess. Like when I was at your place, and you were all, ‘what’s so hard to believe about me being single, Junkrat?’ S'though it wasn't fucking obvious.”

Once again, she’d completely forgotten about that.

“What—what did you want to say?” Angela asks, delicately. Jamie lifts away from his metal hand and scowls at her.

“Oh, come off it! What did you fucking think I wanted to say? If I had even a _single_ fucking clue what I was doing, I woulda made you mine the second you told me, seeing as you apparently felt the same fucking way about me! Woulda just—no choice, this is what’s happening. You belong to me now. Completely avoided all of this—this _shit_.”

Jamie laughs again, throwing his head back, his arms up.

“But I don’t! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Only thing I’m any good at is just—fucking everything up, as per. So uh, yeah! Doesn’t really matter what I wanted to say, ‘cause it’s off the table now.”

“How is it off the table?” Angela asks, frowning at him. He blinks back at her.

“You’re leaving, aren’tcha?” Jamie says, defensively. "Why’d you wanna stay here with a piece of shit like me? I mean, s’pretty late, so I can sleep on the couch if you wanted to leave in the morning.”

“Why would I leave? I hate to think of you with—other women, but I don’t want to leave because you’ve told me this. We weren’t together back then.”

“Yeah, and we’re not together now,” he says, smiling incredulously at her, like she’s talking nonsense.

“I want us to be,” Angela tells him, before she can stop herself.

Jamie puffs out a laugh. He scrapes his metal hand over his jaw.

“Ch’yeah, sure,” he says, through his fingers. “Still don’t know what the fuck you’re even doing here.”

Jamie really doesn’t believe she wants this. Angela gapes at him, wanting to shout and scream and claw him out of this black hole he’s refusing to leave. She grabs his human arm, making his eyes dart back to her.

“Why do you keep saying that?” she asks, voice strained. “How many times do I have to tell you? All I’ve wanted is you, for all of this time!”

Jamie grimaces, wrenching himself away from her. It’s as though hearing this is painful for him, but Angela doesn't care, needs to get through to him.

“Didn’t you believe me earlier, when I told you I’ve thought about you every day? I don’t know how I can make myself any clearer to you, Jamie!”

He goes quiet. Angela flinches, thinking he’s going to lash out at her. Instead he curls into himself, head gripped in both hands.

“How can someone like you want someone like me?” Jamie says, a small voice in the empty space between them.

She’s never heard him like this before, trembling and fragile. When Angela reaches out to hold his shoulder the sound he makes is tiny, a whimper caught in his throat. Jamie is shaking, hands cupped over his eyes.

“You could have anyone you wanted,” he says, whispering. “So why the fuck would you _ever_  want me?”

He sobs, a hitched sound that shakes his shoulders and pierces Angela’s chest. She can see the tears spilling over his cheeks, the downturned line of his mouth.

“Why wouldn’t I want you?” she asks, touching his hands, carefully peeling them back from his face. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Someone I’m so comfortable with, who made me feel so wonderful even when we were thousands of miles apart.”

Jamie tries to avoid looking at her, but Angela isn’t going to let him escape from this, and delicately guides his jaw so that he’s at least facing her. The fear in his eyes when they meets hers is more crushing than anything else he’s said or done. To think that he’s concealed such a terrible insecurity when he’s always been so confident and self-assured is heartbreaking. She thought it was a side of him he hadn’t been willing to show her, but it isn’t a side at all. It’s him.

“Don’t do that,” Jamie says, cringing.

“What?”

“Fucking—look at me like—like I’m some fucking hero!”

“You saved my life,” Angela says, softly. “So you are to me.”

Jamie’s face creases up. He hangs his head.

“How long’s it gonna take you to realise I’m not?!” he says, sobbing. “That—that I ain’t even worth a fucking minute of your time!”

Angela draws him against her and tucks his head under her chin.

“As long as it takes for you to realise I’m not going anywhere,” she says, flooded with relief when Jamie throws his arms around her and clutches onto her while he sobs.  His tears are warm as they spill onto her skin, cooling when they run down her body, and Angela strokes through his hair, letting him cry against her chest. It seems like he’s been holding all of this in for a very long time, and she hopes that if he’s letting it out like this now, he might be on his way to letting her in, instead.

“M’so fucking pathetic,” Jamie whimpers.

“You’re not,” Angela says, murmuring against his hair. She flattens her cheek on his head, gently rocking him. “Not at all.”

“Just don’t get why the fuck you’d want _me_ ,” he says, squeezing her tight.

“Jamie, I like everything about you,” she says. “I’m never happier than when I’m with you, talking to you. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing  _but_ make me happy. Of _course_ I want you.”

He sobs out a laugh.

“Christ, how can you say that? I've just—I’ve just told you I—”

“You’ve been honest with me about something that happened when you didn’t even know how I felt,” Angela says. She pushes back on him enough to run her thumbs over his cheeks. Jamie isn’t sobbing anymore but his eyes are still streaming and his breathing is erratic.

“Can’t fucking lie to you,” he huffs, scowling. “Wish I could.”

“I’m glad you can’t. I don’t want you to.”

Angela smiles at him. Finally some of the fear in Jamie’s eyes seems to soften, like maybe he’s starting to accept what she’s saying.

“What you’ve done isn’t—it isn’t unforgivable,” she says. “You were scared, too, because I wasn’t clear enough. I never have been.”

Angela looks over his face, stroking the sharp line of his jaw. She was happy to give him time because she was sure he needed it before they could think about moving forward, but it seems that Jamie was never going to be ready without getting this out. He’s given her so much, and for all the things she’s said to him, Angela isn’t sure she’s ever reciprocated in the way he’s needed it most.

“We've both been nervous about telling one another, but I’ve put all of it on you, and I shouldn’t have,” she says. “I thought that taking things slow was the right thing to do but I don’t think that’s good for either of us. So. I have a request.”

Jamie’s eyes widen. He looks scared again. No amount of gentle patience is going to cure him of this fear, so Angela takes a steadying breath, preparing herself for whatever she’s about to dive into.

“Date me,” she says.  
  
Jamie gives a timid laugh.

“What?” he says, eyebrows knitting.

“I want us to date. Properly. Right now. No more waiting.”

Jamie stares at her. A few clipped sounds come out of his mouth before he can speak.

“I’m… c’mon, Angie, look at me. I’m not exactly fucking—boyfriend material,” he says, cringing again.

“Nobody meets my criteria as well as you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Unless you have someone else in mind who would do a better job of taking care of me?”

Jamie’s face creases up again.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says, glancing sharply away from her. “Fucking.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t wanna think about you with anyone else!”

“Good.” She doesn’t miss the way he winces when she says this. “Nor I you.”

“Fuckin’—hate it,” he says, almost whispering again. He’s not crying anymore, just reaches up to swipe off some of the remaining tears. “And here I am, stupid enough to go and—”

“If you want me all to yourself, you’re going to have to date me,” Angela says, cutting him off. There’s no need to go over what’s already been said. “So, will you?”

Jamie looks at her uncertainly, like he’s poking his head above the parapet in anticipation of fire.

“I’m… Angie, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing here,” he says, voice fragile again. “I'm—I’m no good at this shit. M’only gonna disappoint you.”

“You won’t,” she says, vehemently. “It’s been years for me, too. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Jamie scratches his neck, glaring down at his lap like he’s thinking hard. Angela leans in, making him look at her again.

“Jamie, if you really don’t want this, I won’t force you,” she says.

“’Course I fucking want this,” he scoffs, hands darting out to grab her thighs. “But—aren’tcha— I dunno, ain’t it gonna be a problem at work?” he asks, prickling as though even now he’s bracing himself for her to snatch it away.

“I’m not worried about that,” Angela says. She appreciates that he’s asked, but her mind was set on this anyway. It’s the right thing to do regardless of what’s in her contract. “If it requires discretion, I’ll be discreet. _We_ will be discreet. Both of us.”

“No good at keeping secrets,” Jamie says, a shaky laugh. Angela lifts her eyebrows at him. “But I mean—if you really wanna do this, I’d do my fucking best,” he adds hurriedly. He seems hopeful now. Determined.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Angela says. “If this is acceptable to you, I’ll ask you again, one last time. Will you date me?”

She looks at him evenly and takes his hands, squeezing metal and flesh. Jamie purses his lips, inhales through his nose. After a moment, he straightens up.

“Yeah,” he says, firmly. “Alright. I will.”

Gosh. And just like that, they’re dating.

Angela laughs, a warm rush of adrenaline bursting out of her chest and spreading throughout her body. Then she grabs his face—his sweet, handsome face—and yanks him forward into a kiss, one that he _mph!_ s into.

“Thank you,” she says, pleased by the shocked grin on his lips when she pulls back.

“I mean… wasn’t ever gonna say no to that, was I?” he says, scratching his cheek like he’s going shy. It’s so adorable that Angela can’t help herself, and finally she grasps his jaw in both hands to start kissing all the freckles and moles scattered over his face. Jamie chuckles when she does, holding her by the waist.

“Angie,” he says, embarrassed now. “Whu—what you doing?”

“Kissing every single freckle on this handsome face,” she says. “Because they’re all mine now, just like the rest of you.”

She can hear a sharp intake of breath, feel the slight tremor of him shuddering. Angela saves the mole on his nose until last, giving it the longest kiss. When she withdraws Jamie’s eyes are soft amber on hers, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to lean in and kiss him, something tender and slow, their first proper kiss as a couple.

“Feel like the luckiest fucking twat right now,” he says, against her lips.

“Me too,” Angela says, dreamily, making him laugh.

“Nah, you're not a twat.” He presses his forehead to hers, looking bashful when he adds, “You’re my fuckin’ girlfriend, s’what you are.”

Angela grins, loving the electric chill this sends down her spine.

“And you’re my fucking boyfriend,” she says, brushing her nose against his. Jamie whispers a little _fuck_ close to her mouth. “Now that that’s settled, do you think we could try and get some sleep?”

“Don’t wanna go to sleep,” he says. “Scared I’m gonna wake up from all this.”

Angela makes a thoughtful sound, wondering how best to reassure him. After a moment she pushes on his shoulders. Jamie goes easily when she coaxes him onto his back, though he’s surprised when she sits over his hips and draws the duvet over her shoulders, tenting him in. He isn’t hard even though they’re both naked.

“You will wake up,” she says. “And so will I. And it’s going to be even better when we do, because nothing will have changed. You’ll still be the only person I want.”

It’s strange being on top of him like this. Angela likes it, though, looking down at him for a change, his hair ruffled in the pillow and his body solid and warm beneath hers. Jamie looks vulnerable right up until he grins at her, and when he reaches for her, metal fingers sliding around the back of her neck to guide her down to him, she goes willingly, as drawn to him now as she always has been.

“Don’t want anyone else either,” he says, murmuring. “Not now I’ve finally got ya.”

Angela pulls the duvet over them, indulging him when he tips his chin up for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

Jamie is still sleeping when she wakes up, of course. Angela doesn’t know exactly what time he needs to leave by, but she doesn’t have the heart to wake him up just yet either, so she reaches across his starfishing body to take her phone from the bedside table.

It’s midday, again. Angela sits up in bed and studies her reflection in the locked screen. Her hair is a complete mess and she squints, noticing something dark on her neck. When she opens the camera to get a proper look she’s dismayed to see that Jamie left a hickey on her yesterday, because it’s prominent, high up on her pale skin. Trying to hide it on Christmas day is going to be a nightmare.

He must somehow feel it when she shoots a look at him, because he stirs, grumbling. Angela grins as Jamie rolls over and frowns, apparently aware that she isn’t cuddled up next to him even though he’s asleep. A text comes through when she goes to lay back down.

_Two days until Christmas!! AAAHHHH!!!!_

Lena. Angela smiles, turning away from him to respond.

 _I’m so excited to see you!!_ _:)_   she writes, because she is. Angela feels more excited for Christmas now than she has all year.

 _Got any last minute food requests?!_ Lena replies.  _Emily and I are on a pudding mission today lol she doesn’t think we have enough in!_

Jamie swats at the bedding to try and find her, metal fingers cold as they slide over and off her hip. Angela carries on texting when the mattress shifts behind her, and then his chest is a heavy weight over her back, his left leg and right thigh either side of her hips to hem her in.

_No requests from me! I’m baking some cookies fo_

“Oi,” Jamie says, a deep huff against her neck. When she smiles over her shoulder at him he scowls, gesturing at her phone. He’s still half asleep. “What you texting her for?”

“I’m going over there for Christmas,” Angela says. “She’s just asking if there’s anything specific I’d like to eat.”

Jamie brushes his nose over her ear, her hair. It tickles, makes her squirm into him. His cock is hard against the small of her back.

“Nnh. Tell her to fuck off,” he says, grumbling. “Come with me instead.”

“I think it’s a little late for that now,” Angela says, eyes fluttering as Jamie starts kissing her neck. He brushes his metal fingers over her breasts, a tantalizing distraction as his human hand darts around and plucks her phone right out of her hand. He tosses it onto the bed.

“Jamie,” she says, half moaning it when his human palm slides down between her legs.

“What?” Jamie says, an amused murmur close to her ear. “Just enjoyin’ ya before I go.”

“Rat,” comes a commanding voice from behind his door. They both jump. “Put your fucking dick away and pack.”

Angela winces when Jamie yells over her ear.

“S’barely anything to pack!”

They jump again when it sounds like a tree trunk is hitting the door. Angela is touched that Jamie is quick to cover her breasts with both of his arms.

“Alright alright, fuck’s sake!” he shouts. He kisses her cheek before extracting himself. “Stay in bed if ya want, won’t take me long.”

“It’s alright,” Angela says, pushing the duvet off. “I need to collect my things anyway.”

Jamie severely overestimates the amount of time they have before leaving. Angela accompanies the two of them on the underground to see them off at Heathrow airport, sad that she’s having to leave him but also looking forward to getting home, having a shower and putting fresh underwear on. When they’re standing outside the security gate she thanks Roadhog for allowing her to stay, and then she’s saying goodbye to Jamie, cuddling him as Roadhog goes on ahead.

“Gonna fuckin’ miss you,” Jamie says, muffled in against the collar of her coat. Angela smiles up at him when he withdraws. He looks tired, but his smile back at her comes easily, soft and warm.

“I’ll miss you too,” she says. “But I’ll see you again in two weeks. Maybe I could come and meet you when you arrive.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

They’re tucked away in a corner, but Jamie glances around before he bends down and kisses her, popping the collar on his jacket to give them a little more privacy. Angela holds onto him tightly, balancing up on her toes to meet him. She wishes he wasn’t going, but it’s hard to be too upset after everything he’s given her this weekend—his body, his time, and most surprisingly of all his commitment.

It’s been a long time since she was in a relationship, herself. She’s nervous about what’s coming, the inevitable return to work and how Jamie is going to cope now that they’re together. Mostly, however, Angela is excited for the future. Nothing’s ever easy, but she’d like to think the worst might be over now. Maybe this is the start of something that’s going to last for a long time, if Jamie truly feels strongly enough that he’s willing to try at all.

“Take care, won’t you?” she says, back on her feet. “I’ll be sure to text you lots.”

“Fucking better. Can’t believe I finally get ya to m’self and now I’m the one leaving,” he says, pouting. “Just my sodding luck.”

“We might get posted to separate countries again,” Angela says. “If that happens, I’ll do everything I can to make sure we’re together.”

“Nah,” Jamie says. He’s grinning, all confidence again. “This is the last time we’re gonna be this far apart for this long. Promise.”

They kiss again, one last time, and then Angela waves him off as he heads through the security gate, already looking forward to his return—and hoping desperately that he’s right.  
  
  
  
  
*


	13. Week Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my wonderful, incredible beta reader [Sneepy](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) for going over this and providing some excellent feedback!!! Also, some amazing fanart from the wonderful [Fiona](https://superceia.tumblr.com/post/171618889680/literallyananime-my-doodles-for-superceias)!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!!!
> 
> NEXT CHAP COMING SOON!!!!!!!

_I’m amazed you’ve got such an appetite after all that travelling.  
  
Yeah lol Roadie’s mum cooked shitloads for us couldn’t turn it down  
Been in a food coma all afternoon haha  
  
A food coma?  
  
Yknow when you eat so much you’re all ughghggh and can’t move afterwards haha  
  
Somehow I’ve never heard that before.  
I’m glad you’ve had such an indulgent Christmas day, at least. :)  
  
Yeah it’s been good lol  
Would’ve had a MUCH more indulgent xmas day with you tho ;)  
  
_ Angela grins. She should say goodbye now that she’s here, but as she probably won’t be able to talk to Jamie again until later on, a few more texts won’t hurt.  
  
_Let me guess. You’d be in a sex coma instead?  
  
Correction: WE would be in a sex coma TOGETHER ;)  
  
How festive. :P  
  
If you wore a sexy Santa costume it’d be plenty festive ;)  
  
Hmm.  
I may be open to something like that…  
  
Holy shit  
You would??  
  
I would. ;)  
  
HOLY SHIT  
  
We can talk about it more later, as I’m at Lena’s now and need to get going.  
  
GAAAAHHHHH  
Fine then lol bloody TEASE  
You fucking bet we’ll talk about it later!!!!! ARGHHHH  
  
Can’t wait. ;)  
Enjoy the rest of your evening! x  
  
Ghaghsdfkjsd have a great day!!!  
TEXT MEEEEEE!!!!! X_

Reluctantly, Angela tucks her phone into the deepest pocket of her handbag. It’s going to be a struggle getting through today without it permanently stuck in her hand, but she doesn’t want to be rude when Lena has been gracious enough to invite her over.

Angela is genuinely excited about spending Christmas with her, if somewhat nervous. She’s wearing a turtleneck sweater with her hair down to conceal the hickey Jamie so kindly left on her neck, but her love life is going to be a difficult subject to evade knowing Lena like she does, so she’s got a few practiced lines in mind for the inevitable questions on how things are going. She doesn’t particularly like the idea of lying about it, but wanting to keep things private at the beginning of her first relationship in years doesn’t seem totally unreasonable, either.

There’ll be lots of other things to talk about, anyway. Comforted by this, Angela knocks on the front door. It takes all of three seconds for Lena to answer and she swings it open with a huge smile on her face.

“Ange!” she says, pulling her into a tight hug. “Merry Christmas!!”

It’s rare for Lena to call her anything other than doc, but also a welcome and refreshing change. Angela laughs, hugging her back.

“Merry Christmas, Lena!”

“So glad you’re here! Winston and Emily are in the kitchen getting everything ready. Come on through!”

Angela hangs her coat over Lena’s bomber jacket before stepping out of her heels and heading inside. Lena’s apartment is a modest two bed on the outskirts of the city, where she lives with Emily and their cat. There’s festive bunting hanging in the corridor and tinsel lining the mirror, and when Lena brings her through to the sitting room there are Christmas songs playing on the TV and a big tree with presents piled beneath it. Angela sets her own bag of gifts down alongside them.

“It’s beautifully decorated in here,” she observes, looking around the room. There are ornaments everywhere and fairylights hanging on the walls and around the windows. Even the docking station where Lena’s chronal accelerator is charging has tinsel wrapped around it.

“Yeah, as soon as December hits Emily can’t help herself!” Lena says, checking the charge percentage before facing her with a grin. “Anyway, how are you??”

Angela smiles. She’s spent the last day and a half on cloud nine, reliving her incredible weekend with Jamie and basking in the joy of texting him without having to worry about restraining herself. It’s unbelievable to think that they’re dating right now, in this very moment. But it’s sad, too, an excitement she can’t share with Lena or even Jamie himself as he’s so far away. His long flight means they’ve been messaging each other frequently when they haven’t been asleep, though.

“I’m good, thank you,” Angela says. It’s a reserved but honest answer, and she drops down to lift a biscuit tin from her bag of presents. “Before I forget, I baked some cookies for us, too!”

“Ohhh, are they the same ones you made last year?!” Lena asks, taking the tin.

“That’s right— _Brunsli._ ” They’re spiced chocolate cookies, a traditional Swiss recipe passed down from Angela's grandmother, and the only things she can bake somewhat reliably.

“Yeah I remember, they were well tasty!” Lena says. “I’ll put them on a plate for us!”

The reed diffuser in the corridor is making the house smell wonderful, all cinnamon and cloves as they walk through it. In the kitchen Emily is easing a tray into the oven and Winston is reading the label on a tub of bread sauce.

“Hey, Angela!” he says, looking up at her. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Winston, good to see you!”

Angela gives him a brief squeeze, his large hand heavy as he pats her back.

“Hello, you!” Emily says, red hair flicking over her shoulder as she whirls around. She’s wearing oven mitts when Angela leans over for an air kiss. “God, it’s been ages!”

“It really has. How’s everything going?”

“Yes, good thanks! I’ve just put the spuds in so I can start dishing out our starters in a minute.”

“Ange made us Swiss biscuits!” Lena says, opening up the tin. Angela is a little embarrassed when the three of them peek inside it. She was distracted when she was making them last night and the icing on some of the stars is messier than she’d like.

“May I try one?” Winston asks. “They smell really good.”

“Of course!” Angela says. “I wasn’t sure if I added too much cinnamon to this batch, so I hope they taste alright.”

The _mmm!_ Winston gives as he takes a bite tells her that they do, thankfully.

“Sweets, get this lovely woman a drink for bringing us cookies,” Emily says, nudging Lena with her hip.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Angela asks, glancing around the kitchen as Lena busies herself piling the cookies onto a plate. Emily curtly shakes her head and sets the oven mitts down on the counter.

“Nope! You don’t need to worry about a thing, love, we’ve got it all sorted.”

“I tried to offer too,” Winston says, smiling when Angela looks at him. There’s the loud pop of a bottle being opened, and then Lena is pressing a champagne flute into her hand.

“Here, have some bucks fizz!” Lena says, pouring what appears to be carbonated orange juice into the glass. Angela laughs as the foam spills over onto her fingers, sipping quickly to try and catch it. Lena pours out a glass for the others, and they all share a Christmas toast before Angela and Winston are instructed to sit at the dinner table.

She’s never spent much time with Winston outside of headquarters, but it doesn’t feel jarring being with him now. They chat comfortably while Emily and Lena finish off in the kitchen, mostly about how hectic work has been for the last six months and their mutual lack of plans over this short winter break as a result. Despite being in good company, Angela is still somewhat tense about discussing work in light of what’s happened with Jamie, but the bucks fizz Lena has provided is just alcoholic enough to take the edge off her nerves.

Emily gasps when she sets Angela's cutlery down.

“ _Love_ your bracelet!” she says, pointing at it. Lena cranes her neck to see it from across the table and Winston leans over to get a better look too. Angela tilts her wrist for them, happy to show it off.

“That’s very pretty!” Winston says. “Is it opal?”

“It is,” Angela says, feeling a burst of pride when she looks down at it herself. She hasn’t discussed it with Jamie yet, but she’s planning on wearing his bracelet daily, even around headquarters. In preparation for this she decided to have it clearly visible over her sleeve today, though she wasn’t expecting any of them to notice so quickly.

“Was it a present from someone?” Lena asks, sounding hopeful. Angela hums.

“No, just something I found while Christmas shopping. It was so beautiful I decided to treat myself.”

She takes a casual sip from her glass, relieved that one of the lines she practiced has already been of use.

“Oh wow.” Lena sits back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “It’s stunning! Great to see you wearing something so glam!”

“It’s been a while since I bought any jewellery,” Angela says, making a mental note to relay these compliments to Jamie later on. “After medical school I became used to going without wearing anything nice like this, but I don’t have to be so strict about that sort of thing these days.”

“Well, I think it’s gorgeous,” Emily says. She holds out her wrist to show off her own bracelet. It’s chunkier than Angela’s and set with jade. “Seems like Lena had the same idea as you, Ange—this was my main present this year!”

“Ems,” Lena says, sounding embarrassed but grinning like an idiot. Angela extends her wrist so it lines up with Emily’s.

“We match,” Angela says, happier still that Jamie thought to make her something like this before they were even dating.

Lena pops in and out to collect plates and serve the main course. Angela is used to spending Christmas with the Lindholms, and while she misses Ingrid’s cooking it’s a nice change of pace to experience a quintessentially British dinner with Lena’s family instead. There are so many sauces to pass around and crackers to pull that it’s easy to forget about her abandoned phone, focused on enjoying herself and catching up with the friends she so rarely gets to see outside of work instead.

Emily cracks open a bottle of champagne when they’re having dessert. After her second glass of it Angela is pleasantly tipsy, but she wishes she could share the good time she’s having with Jamie. There’s still so much they haven’t done together, though drinking and having dinner like this is yet another thing to look forward to when he returns. She’ll have to arrange a proper date with him sometime soon to start making up for all the time they’ve lost.

Angela is distracted from her thoughts of Jamie when Lena starts filling her in on some of the shenanigans she missed at the Christmas party—notably, Reinhardt lying on the buffet table and bench-pressing Torbjörn.

“Oh my god, I was pissing myself!” Lena says, holding out the photographic evidence of it on her phone. Her face is pink now that she’s tipsy as well. “Torb was loving it! Funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“You should’ve taken a video!” Angela says, laughing as she looks through the pictures.

“Oh, please no,” Winston groans, though he’s laughing as well. “If HR found out about that I’d never hear the end of it!”

“C’mon, it’s Reinhardt for god’s sake!” Lena snorts. “You really think anyone from HR would EVER pick a fight with him?”

“I mean, that’s a fair point,” Winston concedes. “And I guess it was pretty hilarious.”

“You really should’ve been there, doc.” Lena pouts at her. “Even Jack was letting loose! Throwing shapes on the dance floor like a bloody madman!”

Angela snorts this time. In all her years of knowing Jack, she can’t ever recall him throwing any shapes on any dance floors—at least, none that consisted of more than clapping his hands and awkwardly kicking his feet.

“I think I’d have to see that to believe it,” Angela says. Lena is flicking through the photos on her phone. Her entire face lights up, and then she holds the screen out again.

“Apparently I _did_ get a video of it! Look at him, he was bladdered!”

“My god,” Angela says, watching Jack legitimately throw some shapes on the dance floor. The video is shaky and a bit grainy from the dimmed lights, but he’s really going for it. “It’s—it’s beautiful. Please send it to me so I can use it if I ever need to make a case for additional leave.”

They all laugh at this. Lena must see that Angela isn’t joking and offers her a sly wink.

“Did you, uh, tell her about what happened afterwards?” Winston asks. Lena groans and rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning.

“Rein and Jack both got down on the floor and started doing push-ups, except Torb was sitting on Rein’s back and Ana was on Jack’s. We were all taking bets on who would do more. Rein did, of course.”

Emily gently shakes Lena’s hand. “Didn’t you say Lúcio ended up doing some as well?”

“I mean he tried, bless him, and he was doing very well right up until Hana sat on him!”

“Oh no,” Angela says, bracing her head with her hand and trying her best not to smile. It was a long time ago, but back when she was doing their training Lúcio had been the weakest of the three and struggled through his push-ups.

“Next time you really must stay out with us.” Lena shakes her head in mock-disapproval. “To think that you were all curled up in bed when you could’ve been witnessing Jack’s dancing with your very own eyes!”

Angela laughs, reaching for her champagne flute. “What time did all of this happen?”

“God, must’ve been about… I dunno, two? Three in the morning?”

Well, Angela was certainly in _a_ bed at that point. It just happened to be Junkrat’s, and he was probably fucking her into it.

“I will be absolutely sure to stay out later for the next party,” Angela says, crossing her legs and taking a sip from her glass.

“It’s just not the same without you,” Lena says. When she leans over with the bottle to top her up Angela shakes her head.

“I’m good for now, thank you. Though I am a little concerned—Lúcio _was_ alright, wasn’t he?”

“I knew you’d worry if I told you! Seriously, he was fine. Hana was a bit upset with him but we were all having a laugh with it.”

The imagery of Lúcio struggling under tiny Hana’s weight is funnier than she knows it should be, but it also serves to remind Angela that she hasn’t given their budding relationship much thought with everything else that’s been going on. It was fun to gossip with Lena about it prior to her deployment, though.

“How’re they doing, by the way?” Angela asks. “I haven’t seen either of them around much since coming back from Japan.”

“Oh, they’re alright,” Lena says. “Still gutted that they’re not dating, though.”

“They’re not?” Angela asks, blinking. It seemed obvious that there was something going on between them while she was in Japan, but she was rather preoccupied, in retrospect.

“Afraid not,” Lena sighs, toying with her fork. “They’re just friends apparently. I was really rooting for them as well!”

This is disappointing, but Angela can’t help glancing over to Winston, wondering what his stance is on their potential relationship seeing as he’s technically their boss. She isn’t entirely clear on how close Lena is with him and how much they share. Lena seems to catch her looking at him and laughs.

“Don’t worry, Winston knows all about it,” she says.

“I was rooting for them too, as a matter of fact,” Winston says, smiling shyly at Angela. He’s polishing the lens of his glasses. “Not to be a partypooper, but from a manager’s perspective it’s a relief that they’re just friends.”

Something uncomfortable pulls at Angela’s stomach.

“How so?” she asks, frowning.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a problem, but the paperwork generated from that kind of thing is… tedious, to say the least,” Winston says. “Once you’ve declared a relationship it has to go through HR, needs signing off by my boss’ boss. I wouldn’t want them to do it lightly, put it that way.”

“I see,” Angela says, sort of wishing she hadn’t asked.

“Honestly, I think they’re doing the mature thing,” Lena says, handing her plate over to Emily, who's clearing up now that they’ve finished eating. “Hana told me she was just happy to see how things go rather than dive into a relationship.”

“It’s difficult when you’re working together, isn’t it?” Emily says. “I bet it can put a massive strain on things when you’re seeing each other every day.”

“I suppose so,” Lena says. “I’d hate to think of how awkward it would be for them if they tried dating and then split up, especially as we’ve been building it up so much.”

Angela downs the rest of her champagne.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Winston says. “Still, they’re young, so it’s not such a big deal. I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”

“You alright there, Ange?” Emily asks. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Angela says, smiling up at her. “Though I think I will have another glass of champagne, if I may.”

Lena obliges her, and luckily the topic deviates into the other agents’ plans for today. Apparently Hana is with Lúcio and Jack, and Angela had a text from Jesse earlier wishing her a Merry Christmas from Japan. Nobody at the table is surprised by this when Angela mentions it, which is a relief, as she said it without considering whether or not Jesse wanted to keep his plans private. Angela finishes off the champagne in her glass and tells herself to give the alcohol a rest, lest she manages to say anything else she might regret.

They exchange presents when they’re back in the sitting room. Angela hasn’t had the inclination to check her phone since their conversation about workplace relationships. She’s enjoying herself again now that she’s snuggled into the corner of the couch, though, content to relax and chat with everyone as she lounges in what she supposes must be a food coma. Suddenly something warm brushes over her foot.

“Oh!” Angela says. It’s their cat. He looks up at her and mews.

“You haven’t met Mycroft yet, have you?” Lena asks. She’s bundling all the discarded wrapping paper into one big ball.

“No, I haven’t,” Angela says. “It feels like such a long time ago but I can remember when you told me Emily wanted a cat.”

“Yep, aaand I caved. She spoils him rotten,” Lena says, laughing. “He’s only three months old but he’s already so big!”

Mycroft bumps his head into Angela’s foot and mews at her again.

“He’s very sweet,” Angela says, leaning down to stroke him. She smiles at the purr he gives and the softness of his long coat. “I can see why Emily would spoil him.”

Angela didn’t have any pets growing up. A cat would be ideal if she were to get one now as it could stay outside while she’s at work during the day, but she can’t really commit to something like that when she doesn’t have time to properly look after anything. In truth, she’d also prefer to have a dog anyway—one that would lift its head and wag its tail when she came home from work, rather than a cat who’d be more likely to walk away from her.

Emily and Winston are sitting cross-legged on the floor talking, and Lena is cycling through the songs on a Christmas album she’s streaming on their TV. Angela is impressed that she’s been able to resist the urge to text Jamie since arriving, but now that she’s feeling curious she can’t resist pulling her phone out of her handbag and going straight to their messages.

He’s sent through several links. Judging by the URLs she should probably open them later on when she’s back at home. Angela tips her phone closer to her body to hide the screen anyway.

 _Just a quick one_ , she writes, wondering if he’s still awake. It’ll be 4am over there now. _Are you a dog or a cat person?_

Poor Jamie must be very jetlagged, because he replies instantly.  
  
_Hahaha asking the REAL questions now are we? :P  
Hope this isn’t a dealbreaker!!! Lol  
  
No, I’m just curious. It’s not a deal breaker either way. :)  
  
Lol PHEW  
WEEEELL  
I would have to say I am a dog person! BIG dogs mind :P  
  
_ Angela bites her lip, trying not to be too delighted by this. _  
  
Me too,_ she replies. _  
  
Ohhhhh well aren’t we just a match made in heaven!!! ;)  
  
Ugh. I suppose I can give you that one. ;)  
  
_ “What’re you grinning about?” Lena asks. Angela stashes her phone away and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Oh—nothing, just—a text.”

“Hmm.” Lena narrows her eyes. It’s a look that fills Angela’s stomach with dread, like she’s somehow caught her red-handed even though there’s no way Lena could possibly know who she’s just been messaging. “Come with me to the kitchen for a sec!”

Fuck. Angela pulls herself off the couch and joins Lena in the kitchen as requested. Lena is careful to close the door behind them.

“Right, there’s _definitely_ something going on with you.” She puts her hands on her hips and squints at Angela’s neck. “What’s that mark?”

Double fuck. Angela swats her palm over it.

“What mark?” she laughs, panicking. Lena’s eyes go wide.

“You’ve got a love bite, haven’t you?!” Lena says, excitedly. Angela immediately shushes her, eyes darting past her shoulder to the kitchen door.

“Is—is it obvious?” she asks, praying that it isn’t.

“I don’t think the other two will have seen it,” Lena says, to her immense relief. “Thought I noticed something earlier but I saw it again just now when you put your hair back. No wonder you’re wearing a bloody turtleneck!”

Angela stares down at the floor, willing her face to stop burning. God _damn_ it. How could she have been so careless about this? She’s only had a few glasses of champagne and already she’s giving far too much away!

“C’mon, Ange, what’s going on?” Lena grabs her hands to get her attention. “You can tell me!”

The pleading look that follows floods Angela with guilt. It’s almost tempting to tell Lena right here and now, confess to the terrible crime of somehow falling into a relationship with Junkrat. Would it really be so bad to be honest with her? Rip off the bandaid and just—get it over with? If her relationship with Jamie is going to last as long as she hopes it will she’ll have to eventually, regardless of the paperwork it’ll generate and Lena’s disapproval.

At the same time, Angela isn’t sure she’s ready to face the reaction she’s going to get—the _why_ and _how_ and _what the bloody hell are you thinking_ she’s so sure Lena will come out with.  Understandably, she supposes. If she hadn’t been so quiet about their developing friendship maybe it wouldn’t come as such a shock, but somehow Angela doubts telling Lena would’ve made much of a difference to her opinion anyway, as she’s been so against Jamie from the start.

“Whatever it is, I won’t say anything to the others,” Lena says, when it’s been a moment and she still hasn’t said anything. Angela purses her lips.

It’s important to be honest with Lena. They are close friends, after all. At the same time, this thing with Jamie has only just started, so unfortunately it's more important to keep it private for now. Not only that, she really doesn’t want to ruin their lovely day by dropping such a massive bombshell.

“I’m—dating someone,” Angela says, quietly. Lena gasps.

“No! You’re joking!!”

“It’s true. In fact, I—um.”

Angela pauses. She can’t believe she’s about to admit this, but, well. She’ll have to at some point, so it may as well be now.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Lena’s jaw drops.

“Oh my god!” she says, squeezing Angela's hands. Thankfully she’s keeping her voice down. “Are you for real?!”

“Yes, I am.”

“Holy shit, Ange! Congratulations! Don’t tell me your bracelet’s—”

“From him, yes,” Angela says, feeling a sweat coming on. It’s risky to divulge this sort of information but it’s also highly unlikely Lena will be able to guess just from knowing this.

“That’s amazing! Good to see he’s already spoiling you, he must be bloody keen! Is it anyone I know?!”

Angela takes a steadying breath. Lena’s enthusiasm is wonderful, but her heart is pounding from confessing even this much, which indicates that withholding the juiciest detail—the true identity of her boyfriend—is still the best thing to do.

“It—it’s the same person I was talking to before. An old flame I reconnected with a few weeks ago.”

Lena knows Junkrat, but she doesn’t know Jamie. Figuring that it’s a half-truth rather than a flat out lie, Angela decides to add, “Nobody you know, sadly.”

“Ohhh, but that’s still so exciting!” Lena says, bouncing from foot to foot like an excited puppy.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Angela grips her hands tight to try and convey that she’s serious about this. “I really don’t want anyone else knowing right now, as it’s only just happened.”

“I promise, I won’t say a thing. Won’t even mention it to Emily!”

“Thank you,” Angela sighs. She knows she can trust Lena with things like this, but it’s still reassuring to get her word on it. “It’s—I’m nervous, as it’s been a while. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone until I know for sure that it’s going to work out between us.”

“Of course, I totally understand! No need to worry about that with me,” Lena says, softly. “Oh, Ange, I’m honestly thrilled for you! I thought you looked happy!”

“You did?” Angela asks, smiling at Lena’s fervent nodding.

“The second I saw you I knew something was up. You just seem—I don’t know, different. Good different! I think it’s absolutely wonderful!”

“Me too,” Angela says, shyly. “I wasn’t expecting it, and I don’t know how it’s going to go, but—I feel optimistic about it. He makes me very happy.”

Lena pulls her into a tight cuddle, bouncing up and down again and making her laugh. It seems silly to have worried when Lena's excitement feels so genuine, but Angela still can’t help wondering how different the reaction would be if she’d told her that this new boyfriend was actually Junkrat.

“Right then,” Lena says, letting go. She looks determined. “Let’s get some concealer on that love bite so you don’t have to worry about it anymore!”

“I almost used some this morning but I thought it might rub off on my sweater,” Angela says. Lena firmly shakes her head.

“Emily’s got some industrial strength setting spray, so that won’t happen. Just leave it to me!”

Angela allows herself to be pulled through to Lena’s bedroom. She still feels guilty for not giving the full picture, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before Lena will ask to meet him. But it’s exhilarating being able to share her good news with someone, and a relief that she hasn’t needed to use the lie of being single she’d practiced on her way here. It would’ve been awful having to say something like that when Lena’s reaction to her relationship has been so sincere.

Saying it out loud sort of makes it feel more real, too. _I have a boyfriend._ Even now Angela can’t quite believe it.

They return to the sitting room, where Winston is dealing cards so they can play some games. Angela settles back down on the couch. She feels better for telling Lena what’s going on, even if only partially, and is able to quash most of her lingering unease by picking at the chocolates and cookies spread out on the coffee table. Winston leaves shortly after 8pm, so Angela decides to follow suit, not wanting to encroach on Emily and Lena’s evening together. She’s sufficiently sobered up thanks to indulging in so many sweets, and while she’s sad to leave them she’s also looking forward to getting home and unwinding—as well as being able to text Jamie again, of course. Hopefully he might’ve gotten some sleep as it’s been hours since she checked her phone.

“So I’ll see you back at work, yeah?” Lena asks, when they’re hugging goodbye outside the door. There’s a hovercab waiting by the side of the road.

“Yes, I’ll see you then.” Angela drops her voice, squeezing her. “Thank you so much for today, Lena.”

Lena squeezes back. “You got it, love,” she whispers. “Secret’s safe with me!”

Angela waves the two of them off when she’s in the hovercab, and as it pulls away she fishes her phone out of her bag, sleepy from all the food she’s eaten but giddy now that she can check her messages without worry. She goes straight to her chat window with Jamie and scrolls up to finally open those URLs he sent before.

Sexy Santa costumes. Clearly he wasn’t joking when he mentioned her wearing one. Costume play is a kink Angela has never delved into with anyone else. While it isn’t something she'd normally go out of her way to try she’s certainly curious about it if it’s something Jamie is interested in, so she has a browse through some of the outfits he’s linked.

It seems silly to order a Santa costume when Christmas will be over by the time Jamie returns, regardless of how much fun it would be to dress up for him like that. To compromise, Angela orders herself what she considers to be a tasteful set of red lingerie instead. Perhaps she can surprise him with it when he returns? It’s been years since she bothered even looking at this sort of thing and it’s thrilling to have someone to dress up for—a boyfriend who’ll probably appreciate it.

The email receipt comes through, and Angela returns to their messages. The last one Jamie sent was about an hour ago.  
  
_Hey you still at her majestys?  
  
I’m on my way home now,_ Angela writes. _Hope you’re sleeping well, looking forward to talking in the morning :) x_  
  
She taps out of their messages thinking that he’s asleep, but Jamie’s reply pops up in seconds, alarmingly.  
  
_I’m awake lol  
You see those links I sent? ;)  
  
Oh my god, have you been up all this time? Aren’t you exhausted??  
  
I’m alright :P first nights always rough it’s par for the course haha  
  
Do you think you’ll be able to sleep soon? :(  
  
Ehhhh maybe. It’s no big deal lol not like I have to be anywhere  
You almost home btw?  
  
I’m close to the station, so it’ll be another hour and half before I’m home.  
  
Oh right  
You in a cab now then?  
Not walking are you?  
  
_ Angela frowns at the screen.  
  
_I’m in a taxi and I have another booked for when I get off the train. :)  
  
Alright good lol  
Guess I’d best keep you company til I know you’re home safe ;)_  
  
Asking if she got home safe is a habit Jamie developed after they started working together at headquarters, when she'd leave the research area in the evenings and he would stay behind to work. He must’ve been worried about her, even though he isn’t outright saying so. Angela can tell just from the way that he’s typing—from the fact that he’s clearly stayed up for her.  
  
_Don’t you want to get some sleep?_ she writes, as concerned as she is touched.  
_  
Nooooo I wanna hear about your day :)  
  
_ God, he’s adorable. Angela smiles, taking a moment to appreciate his sweetness before she replies. _  
  
I had a wonderful time.  
Everyone complimented my bracelet, even Lena.  
She said it was stunning. :)  
  
Shit  
You wore it there?  
  
Of course I did. It felt great being able to show it off.  
  
_ Now Jamie’s the one who needs a moment, apparently. Angela doesn’t hear from him again until she’s on the train. _  
  
Glad you like it so much lol  
  
I love it. I don’t want to stop wearing it.  
Would you mind if I wore it at work?  
  
Jesus Angie of course I wouldn’t  
I made it for you so you can wear it whenever you want  
Just wish I was there to see you wearing it now!!!! Haha  
  
_ The train is well lit, so Angela instantly flips over to the camera and takes a photo of the bracelet on her wrist. She wonders if Jamie might’ve fallen asleep because he doesn’t reply for a while when she sends it over. He does eventually, when she’s close to home.  
  
_Awww no face for me? :(  
  
_ Sighing, Angela runs her fingers through her hair and attempts to find a flattering angle under the carriage lights. She sends over what she hopes is an acceptable selfie, and Jamie’s reply comes instantly this time.  
  
_GORGEOUS  
STUNNING  
BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!_  
  
She laughs, delighted as ever by his generous compliments.  
_  
I wish I could kiss you right now for being so utterly sweet.  
  
Wish I could do a lot more than that!!!!  
Gahhhh can’t believe you’re all mine lol  
  
_ Angela shivers. They’ve said words to similar effect a couple of times already, but it’s just as thrilling now as it was the first time.  
  
_I can’t believe it either_.  
  
_Doesn’t seem real lol  
  
We will make it real when you’re home. :)  
  
Yeah too right we will :)  
  
_ They text for the rest of the journey, right through until Angela is curled up on her couch at home. It’ll be almost midday for Jamie now, which means he’s been awake for well over 24 hours even factoring in the sleep he had on his flight over there. She may miss him, but his typing has deteriorated and she's afraid that he might be trying to stay awake until she goes to bed.  
  
_Will you try and get some sleep now? :( I’m getting worried._  
  
_Uughhh yeah geuss so lol  
  
You really didn’t have to stay awake all this time.  
  
Cpurse I did lol  
Gotta make sure my gf gets homesafe while I’m nto there  
  
_ His abbreviated use of girlfriend tugs painfully at her heart, but even this coupled with his protective sentiment isn’t enough for Angela to want to keep Jamie awake any longer.  
  
_It means the world to me that you did, but please get some rest now.  
Text me again when you’re awake, okay? x_  
  
_Lol kk x  
Text u first thing x  
  
Goodnight Jamie. Sleep well and have sweet dreams x  
  
_ Angela isn’t tired enough herself to go to sleep just yet. It’s a relief knowing that Jamie will finally be resting, though, and when she heads upstairs to her bedroom she peels off her turtleneck, ready to spend the rest of her Christmas day lounging in bed wearing something far more comfortable.

Pulling it over her head, she’s pleased that Jamie’s hoodie still smells of him even though she washed it yesterday. The fabric conditioner has softened it, but washing it seems to have loosened the threads on some of the patches that were already starting to come out. Angela will sew them down again before she gives it back to him. Perhaps tomorrow, now that she has so much free time to burn. It’s the least she can do in return for his kindness in letting her take it in the first place—something else Jamie has given her, a permanent hug while he’s away. Not quite the real thing, but enough to keep her going, just about.  
  


* * *

 

  
The Christmas holiday is one of her favourite parts of the year, not only because she enjoys the season but also because it’s the only annual leave she’s guaranteed. Accustomed to spending it alone, Angela normally uses this week off to catch up with old friends, potter around the house, and attempt to have a proper break from all things related to work.

This year, incredibly, she has someone in her life she could’ve shared this time with. Unfortunately, he’s also 11,000 miles away for the next week and a half, and when he does return to the UK they’ll both be back at work again. Angela is independent enough to cope just fine with this. It’s certainly what she’s used to. The only problem is that, after enjoying a small but intense taste of being in a relationship again, it’s frustrating having to spend her precious annual leave alone when she could’ve been with Jamie instead, sharing a holiday with someone special for a change.

But she can’t. So, Angela’s Christmas holiday is the same as always.

Boxing Day comes and goes. She keeps busy tidying the house and touching base with old friends. At the weekend, she meets Lena and Emily in London for coffee and shopping. Angela also arranges a New Year’s party with some ex-colleagues she hasn’t seen in a while, and in the meantime she texts Jamie as much as possible despite their conflicting timezones. She wanted to use this time off to get her sleeping schedule back on track after the complete upheaval it’s had over the last two months, and Jamie’s excessively late nights accommodate this well. If she’s awake at 8am it’s 9pm for him, and for the first few days of his vacation they maintain a somewhat regular back and forth until he goes to bed at 4pm UK time. Just as she gets used to this, and after a week of being in New Zealand with Roadhog and his mother, Jamie tells her he’s flying out to Australia. This changes their time difference once again.

Aside from sunbathing and visiting home, Jamie gives no real indication of what he’s doing out there. He doesn’t mention any family, but that’s a subject Angela doesn’t want to get into over text, and she finds it odd that he’s there on his own. She knows that Roadhog is his friend, but she assumed he was still Jamie’s bodyguard as well. Whatever he’s doing out there, she’d like to think it’s nothing criminal or dangerous if he doesn’t need Roadhog’s protection. Maybe he really is just having a relaxing vacation in his home country.

Jamie isn’t evasive when she asks what he’s up to, just vague. _Kickin back_ or _meeting friends_ , accompanied by pictures of the Darwin coast, as that’s where he’s staying. Perhaps Angela should be concerned by this in light of what he told her about those other women. She isn’t, though. Trusting Jamie is a conscious decision she’s making that feels like the right one now that they’re dating. If she can trust him with her life, she’d like to believe she can trust him to spend two weeks away, too.

Angela occupies herself well up until Tuesday—New Year’s Eve. Jamie won’t be coming back to the UK until next Monday, and even then they’ll both be at work for the rest of the week.  
  
_Sorry, I needed to catch my train otherwise I would’ve sent you a picture before.  
I’m on my way now though. Should be in Manchester in about two hours!  
  
Holy shit  
You look fucking HOT  
  
You think so?  
  
UH  
YEAH I THINK SO  
FUCKING FUCKABLY HOT!!!  
  
_ Angela told herself that things wouldn’t be so bad now that they’re dating, that two weeks would be a breeze to get through. Yet again, however, they’re stuck in the infuriating limbo of being physically apart from one another. It’s almost like when she was in Japan, except this feels even worse because they’ve only just started dating and she’s acutely aware of everything she’s missing out on after experiencing their weekend together.  
  
_You mean I wasn’t fuckably hot already?  
Ouch. :(  
  
OMFG  
ARE YOU SERIOUS  
I AM COMPLIMENTING YOU HERE!!!!!  
  
I know, I’m just teasing you. :)  
  
RRGGHGHFGHHGHF  
YOURE TOO FUCKING GOOD AT TEASING ME  
  
_ Angela misses Jamie. She misses being cuddled into his chest. She misses his hands on her—his affection, his kisses.  
  
_Sorry. It’s just so fun to rile you up.  
  
Lol yeah I BET it is  
Gonna make you pay for this when I’m home!!!  
  
Oh, please do.  
  
_ More than anything else, though, Angela _really_ misses having sex with him. She didn’t think she would, but oh, she does.  
  
_Playing with fire there babe……  
  
Am I?  
  
Yeah. Not sure you’d like what I might end up doing if you keep teasing me  
  
Well now I really am interested to know.  
  
Oh yeah? You wanna know what I’d do to you right now?  
  
_ She crosses her legs. Angela’s in a first class seat so there’s nobody sitting beside her. With nothing but time to kill on this long train journey up to her New Year’s party, she’s happy to indulge in some sexting with Jamie while he’s awake, especially as he’s been so complimentary of her selfie. She’s wearing a little black dress under her winter coat, one that’s been stashed away in her wardrobe, unworn for years.  
  
_Tell me.  
  
First I’d push you up against a wall  
Keep you pinned so you can’t escape  
Then I’d see how wet I could get you just from touching you  
So I’d help myself to what’s mine and grope you all over  
_  
_Possessive, aren’t you?  
What’s the fun in all of that if I’m still fully clothed, though?  
  
If you DARED say something like that to me I’d rip that little fucking dress right off you  
  
I’d love to see you try.  
  
_ Angela’s libido hasn’t been like this since college, but after having more sex with Jamie in the space of two days than she has in the last several years her body seems to be craving it. Moreover, she’s craving _him_ , and it’s entirely his fault for making her feel so incredibly good in the brief time they had together before he left.  
_  
Wowwwww  
Okay then  
You want me to be rough with you? Is that it?  
  
You say that like you weren’t rough with me last weekend…  
  
_ Jamie pauses while he’s typing. Angela’s stomach squirms while she waits.  
  
_Lol fuck uh_  
_You thought that was rough?  
Probably best we stop here then tbh  
_  
_What? Why?  
You can tell me what you want to do.  
  
No lol it’s ok  
We’ll save it for when you’re a little more experienced  ;)  
  
_ While patronising, that also sounds awfully promising. Angela isn’t shocked to hear that Jamie can be rougher in bed than he has been so far, but she probably shouldn’t be so turned on by it, either. _  
  
I hope you’re not implying that I was a virgin before you. :P  
  
Nah lol course not!  
Whatever you’ve done before won’t be a patch on what I’ve got planned though  
Trust me ;)  
  
That's quite a bold assumption. ;)  
May I have a preview?  
  
Ohhhh you really are curious aren’t you?   
Nope ;) not yet at least  
Think we need a liiiiiittle more time together so I don’t scare you off :P_ _  
  
You won’t, but I understand.  
I really can’t wait, you know.  
There’s so much I want to do with you.  
  
Believe me lol I can’t either  
Only 5 days til I’m back  
Could always stay at mine afterwards if you still wanted to meet me at the airport ;)  
  
That’s a tempting offer, but I don’t want to bother Roadhog and you’ll be very jetlagged.  
Plus we’ll both have work the next day.  
  
Lol well it’s up to you but literally none of those things matter  
Means you won’t be getting fucked until next weekend……  
You gonna survive that long without me? ;)  
  
_ She thought she would, but following this conversation she isn’t so sure.  
  
_We’ll have to see_ , Angela writes. Jamie should already know that she’s desperate to see him again. She doesn’t want to risk sounding clingy, even though she’d really love nothing more than to spend the night with him when he comes back, regardless of it being a weeknight and having work the next day.

Texting Jamie is the fun stopgap it always has been while she can’t see him, anyway, and far better than nothing at all. Angela’s friends meet her at the station when she arrives—Martin, Sam, Zoe and Rachel. The new year hits Australia when she’s at Martin’s house, so she puts her suitcase down in the spare bedroom and takes a minute to message Jamie. _  
  
Happy New Year Jamie!! x  
  
HAPPY NEW YEAR ANGIEEEEEEEE!!!! X  
  
How are you celebrating?  
  
Watching fireworks over the beach lol  
Might’ve put in a few extra special ones myself ;)  
  
What a surprise. ;)  
Anyway, I’m with everyone now and I don’t want to be glued to my phone all evening, so I’ll text you at midnight.  
I’m staying overnight don’t forget, so there’s no need to worry about me getting home, if you are._  
  
_No no I know lol  
Won’t be out too late myself  
Set my alarms for the morning  
  
Are you going somewhere?  
  
Nah just wanna be around to wish my gf a happy new year  
Seeing as she’s stuck in the past ;)  
  
How considerate of you. ;)  
Thank you, though, really.  
Hope you have fun watching the fireworks :) x  
_  
_Haha will do  
Don’t go having too much fun without me!!! :P x  
  
Only if you don’t get yourself into too much trouble!! x  
  
I WILL MAKE NO GUARANTEES!!!!! X  
  
_ “Ange!” Sam says, bursting into the spare room. “What’re you doing in here?”

“I’m, um. Just texting my boyfriend,” she says, smiling coyly at him.

“Boyfriend?!”

“What did she just say?!” Rachel asks, also coming in. Angela tucks her phone into her handbag and stands up, straightening her dress.

“I suppose I should really fill you in, shouldn’t I?” she says, laughing as they usher her out of the spare bedroom and into the living room.

It’s a shame that her old colleagues are so spread out around the country, as it makes get-togethers like this far more infrequent than she’d like. There’s always so much catch up on, and it’s late into the evening when Angela’s finished explaining the whirlwind that has been this year to everyone. She’s careful to refrain from giving away any truly identifiable details about Jamie, what with Overwatch’s data protection stipulations being so stringent. It’s refreshing being able to tell her friends about him without needing to worry about their reactions or any repercussions, though.

Angela does a good job of staying off her phone for the night, and helps herself to a few glasses of champagne in preparation for the countdown. Now that they know she’s currently in a long distance relationship, once they’ve screamed and hugged and clinked their glasses at midnight, her friends encourage her to contact Jamie. Sure enough, he’s already texted her.  
  
_HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU GRADE A FUCKABLE BABE!!!! X  
  
_ Another new compliment from him. It makes Angela laugh, and then Sam and Rachel descend on her, trying to look at her screen.

“What’s he said?” Rachel asks.

“He called me a ‘grade A fuckable babe’,” Angela says, grinning.

“Christ, finally someone who appreciates you!” Sam says, heavily patting her back. “Tell Jamie he’s a good lad!”

“You’ve definitely got a keeper there,” Rachel says.

Hasn’t she just. It’s oddly validating to hear this sentiment from them—feels good that they don’t have any preconceptions about Jamie. If only she could share this sort of thing with Lena, too.

“Go on, text him back!” Sam says, patting her again. “We won’t be offended!”

“Alright, alright,” Angela laughs. She’s somewhat inebriated from the champagne, but more from the atmosphere and encouragement she’s had from them, so she feels like being a little more daring when she writes out her response.  
  
_Thank you, my grade A fuckable man <3 x  
  
Ooohhhhhh I get a heart as well?!  
Fuck me lol now I KNOW we’re serious :P x  
  
I figured a kiss wasn’t quite enough ;) x  
  
Well shit been fucking restraining myself this entire time!!!! Haha x  
  
_Angela arches an eyebrow at the screen. He’s been restraining himself?  
  
_Wait, really? x  
  
Gahhhh lol it’s prolly really stupid but uhhh  
I’ve always wanted to send more than just 1 lol x  
_  
_You have? Since when?? x_  
  
_Japan haha x  
  
I can’t believe that!! x  
  
Angie I would’ve sent you all the kisses in the fucking world  
Never thought it would make any difference!!! x  
  
_

“What’s he saying now??” Rachel asks, hanging on her arm. Angela’s got her hand cupped over her mouth.

“It’s—he’s.” She shakes her head, a huge smile on her face when she starts writing out her response. “He’s just doing what he’s done from the start and surprised me once again, really.”

“Awww! But a good surprise, right?”

“A wonderful surprise,” Angela says, hitting send.  
  
_Oh my god!  
I was so happy you even wanted to send one! x  
It was the best thing that could’ve happened when I was away! x  
  
Fuck lol you shitting me? x  
  
I am not shitting you!! Seeing your kiss was always the highlight of my day! x  
  
_ Jamie is typing for a long time after this. Martin comes along to top up Angela’s champagne glass, which she’s grateful for as Jamie’s taking so long that she’s starting to get worried. Finally, his reply comes through.

He’s sent over an entire wall of kisses.

“Oh my god,” Angela says, breathing out a laugh. She has to scroll for ages before she reaches the end of them.  
  
_There you go ;) x  
  
When you’re home, I’m going to match every single one. x  
  
Lol you best had ;) gonna hold you to that!!! x  
  
Mark my words, I will! x  
  
_ Jamie goes quiet after this. Angela is distracted when her friends start dancing to old pop music. She puts her phone down and doesn’t reach for it again until she’s getting ready for bed. It’s nearing 3am, must be about midday in Australia, and it looks like Jamie texted her back after all, just half an hour ago. Angela is excited when she opens their conversation after the lovely texts they exchanged earlier, but her stomach drops when she sees what he’s written. _  
  
Feel like a fucking idiot being here. Should’ve stayed.  
  
_ Shit. What a message to miss. She sits up in the spare bed, hunched over her phone and squinting at its bright light in the dark room. Talking to Jamie is far more important than her tiredness from being up late, so Angela fires back a reply. _  
  
I’m so sorry for missing you, got caught up singing with the others.  
I’m in bed now. Shall I call you?  
  
_ Jamie’s response is immediate. _  
  
No it's ok I know it’s late over there_  
_  
Are you sure?  
Has something happened?  
  
No nothing  
I just fucking miss the shit outta you that’s all.  
  
_ Reading this throws Angela right back to that text he’d sent her in Japan— _I fucking miss you Angie._ The first true indication of Jamie's feelings. Another hint she brushed aside.  
  
They’ve taken so long to reach this point, but even though they’re closer than ever they’ve also never been further apart. Suddenly Angela doesn’t care about appearing clingy as she quickly types out her reply to him. _  
  
I miss you too. So much. All the time, actually, even though I’ve probably tried to act like I haven’t.  
It was selfish of me to ask you to date me just before you left.  
But I don’t regret asking you, either.  
I’d rather be with you like this than not at all.  
  
_ Her eyes are heavy but she’s wide awake, knows she won’t be able to sleep before she's sure that he’s feeling better. It’s a long time before Jamie replies. _  
  
Wasn’t selfish. I’m glad you did  
It’s just fucking shit  
Waited all this fucking time and I’m the stupid cunt keeping us apart  
  
You’re not keeping us apart, you’re on vacation.  
There’s no reason to beat yourself up.  
We’ll see each other again very soon, only days now.  
  
Not soon enough.  
You coming over to mine on Monday yeah? Staying?  
  
_ Angela goes to say yes, of course she is, to hell with work the next day. Just as she types it out, though, she wonders if Jamie might appreciate it if she were to offer an alternative.  
  
_I’d love to, but why don’t you come to mine instead?  
  
Uh  
Really?  
Why?  
  
Why not?  
It gives poor Roadhog a break and I can cook dinner for us.  
  
You do mean STAY at yours right??  
  
Of course. In my bed, where you belong! ;)  
You’ll have a longer journey to work in the morning but we can travel in together.  
  
_ He types, then stops. Angela smiles down at the screen when Jamie starts again, having a good feeling about his response.  
_  
You sure???  
  
Absolutely. Would you like to? :) x  
  
I’d fucking love to!!!! x  
  
Then on Monday, I will pick you up from the airport and bring you home with me! xxx  
  
Holy shit  
Alright!!!!!!! xxx  
FUCKING HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!! xxxxxxxxx  
  
_ Angela just laughs, a quiet and croaky sound from how tired she is. She wishes Jamie goodnight, thrilled by the extra kisses they send to one another and smiling against the pillow when she pulls the covers over her shoulders. His delight in being invited over has her head buzzing with all the things she wants to do with him—all the things she _will_ do with him, at _her house_. She’s glad to have reassured him, but why, why does Monday have to be so far away when she’s more excited to see him than ever!

Angela flips the pillow over, rolling from one side to the other. It takes a while for her thoughts to slow down, but telling herself that Monday won’t come unless she tries to get some sleep eventually does the trick. Despite feeling groggy the next day she’s still buzzing when she’s saying goodbye to her friends, when she’s on the train back home after lunch. Angela texted him after she woke up this morning, and while it’s unlike Jamie to have gone this long without responding she isn’t concerned by it. If his texts last night had been eating away at him, it’s possible that he’s simply enjoying his vacation more now that he’s spoken to her.

Jamie sounds normal when he does text her again, just after midnight Australian time. Angela arrives back home and unpacks from her brief trip away. Her annual leave officially comes to an end tomorrow, and then she’ll be back at headquarters, catching up on what she anticipates will be a ton of emails in her inbox. Making the most of her final evening off, she settles on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa, messaging Jamie until he heads off for the night and winding down ready for her return to London in the morning. Normally Angela dreads going back to work after Christmas. Being occupied in her office will probably make the days go faster, so she’s actually looking forward to returning this time around, relaxed and ready to face work by the time she’s in bed.

As usual, Angela seems to be one of the few employees who didn’t bother taking any additional leave over the Christmas and New Year period. Headquarters is practically dead when she arrives on Thursday morning. Winston is in, though, as they see one another in reception. She joins him in the elevator on her way up to medical and enjoys their brief chat about how they’ve spent their break, and then she’s unlocking her office.

It feels strange to be back in light of everything that’s happened. She’s grateful to her past self for tidying up before leaving, as she couldn’t remember if she’d left all her paperwork in a mess following Zenyatta’s unexpected discharge. Angela sits at her clean desk, setting down her coffee and powering on her desktop computer.

She’s tired from being out so late and drinking at the party, but her first day back from any period of leave is dedicated to catching up on emails rather doing any intense work. Today, there’s a more pressing matter that requires Angela's attention before she can even think about clearing her inbox. She could’ve done this while she was at home as she has remote access to it, but she promised herself a break from all things work related over her Christmas holiday, and she considers it a work related issue. So. Now that she’s back, she can go through it.

Angela opens the pdf containing her contract. She doesn’t waste any time scrolling, just types in the keywords and hits return.

 **  
_6.1.1 Policy on Personal Relationships_ ** _  
  
Agents are required to declare to their line manager, or Head of Department, any new or existing personal relationships they have with other agents, consultants, contractors or suppliers which may give rise to an actual or potential conflict of interest, trust, or breach of confidentiality.  
  
_

Right. Okay. This is about what she was expecting. Angela chews her lip, reading carefully. It’s not a huge section, and she’s relieved to note that she has no particular clauses considering her position within the medical department. But it has a few subheadings and is, quite obviously, a policy that needs to be adhered to.

Sitting back in her seat, she lets out a long, slow breath. The logical course of action from here would be to go straight over to Winston and just declare what’s going on with Jamie right now. He’ll probably be in his office too, catching up on a mountain of paperwork. It would be an ideal time to talk to him.

There’s no question in Angela’s mind of informing Winston. It’s her duty to, after all. But there _is_ a question of when. It isn’t as straightforward as simply letting Winston know—she couldn’t possibly tell him without first telling Lena. When Angela does tell Lena, she’ll also need to do it sensitively and at an appropriate time, when she can explain at length and answer any questions Lena might have about it. She’ll probably have many.

Luckily, the contract does not stipulate an immediate requirement to inform anyone, simply that it needs to be done. It would be unfair and unwise to do this without first consulting Jamie as he has an equal part in it. They should probably approach Winston together, so that he knows their relationship is serious. None of this can be rushed.

Angela grabs her phone and opens up their conversation window. Her last message was to let him know she arrived at work. Jamie has replied with a photo of a dog that looks so big and fluffy it could be a bear, as they were discussing different breeds during her journey into London this morning. _  
  
Very cute, but that coat looks like it would require a lot of maintenance.  
Anyway, I’m reading through my contract now.  
  
Uh oh lol  
And?  
  
It’s nothing completely unmanageable or unreasonable.  
I’d rather talk about this in person, though, if you don’t mind.  
As you will be jetlagged on Monday, do you think we could carve out some time for it later in the week?  
Sorry, I know this probably sounds scary but I want to do it right.  
  
_ Jamie doesn’t take as long to reply as she thought, but she’s still nervous when his message pops up.  
  
_Hmmmm  
Nah let's go for Monday  
  
_ Angela’s eyebrows lift up. This is a remarkably unperturbed response from him. _  
  
But what about your jetlag? You’re going to be exhausted.  
  
Yeah but I know we gotta go through this lol  
Planning on sleeping on the plane anyway so I can fuck you all night long at your place ;)  
  
_ Hah. This sounds more like him, though it’s still somewhat disconcerting that he’s so relaxed about it. Angela figures one last poke won’t hurt.  
  
_I am happy to wait until later in the week you know._  
_Unless you’re sure?_  
  
_About fucking your brains out? Always ;)  
Lol but yeah I’m sure Monday’s fine  
  
_ Hmm. Well, she can’t argue with that. Jamie seems confident about it, as much as he can be through text.  
  
_Thank you so much. :)  
  
Course ;)  
Anyway whaddya think of this guy??? Australian shepherd!!!  
LOOK AT THOSE EYES!!!!  
  
_

This turns out to be more of a weight off her mind than she was expecting. Angela isn’t stressed even when she opens her inbox to over a hundred unread emails. Sipping at her coffee and allowing its caffeine to rejuvenate her tired brain, she replies to Jamie’s messages between going through her inbox and checking the updates from the Japanese team who’ve been working with her patch.

It’s a typically laid back return-to-work sort of day. Jamie stops responding after a few hours, which is unusual as he normally texts her a lot after lunchtime when it’s evening for him. It’s even more unusual that he starts texting her again just as she’s leaving work—around the time he’d be saying goodnight. Assuming he’s having a late night, Angela is happy to keep talking to him, and sure enough Jamie seems to head off to bed shortly after she’s home.

Friday is another quiet day at headquarters. Angela’s work calendar for the new year will gradually fill up again as more people start returning to work next week, so she continues working through her unread emails in lieu of having any meetings to attend or urgent work to do. There’re only three days to go until she’s seeing Jamie again. Angela is in a permanent state of giddiness thanks to this. She has a browser open that’s full of recipe ideas for the dinner she wants to cook him on Monday evening, and because it’s so quiet she can drop whatever email she’s reading every time her phone buzzes with a text from him. He’s been messaging her all morning. She still hopes he’s enjoying himself out in Australia while he can, but Angela is secretly delighted that Jamie seems to be spending so much of his time talking to her today. His messages have been really enthusiastic, too. It’s making her even more excited about Monday, like he’s hyping her up on purpose ready for it. God, she absolutely cannot wait to see him. It may only be one evening but it’s so much better than having to wait until next weekend.

 _I’m heading to lunch now :)_ Angela writes, locking her office. She's caught up on all of her emails so once she’s had something to eat she’ll go over the ones requiring her feedback. _  
  
Bet you can’t wait til hometime ;) last working day!!!  
You ARE leaving early aren’t you? :P  
  
_ Jamie’s flight is due to land at 3pm. She’s planning on leaving at around 1:30 to allow plenty of time to reach the airport. Thanks to her flexible working hours, Angela will clock in at 7 to partially compensate her early finish and work the rest of it from home sometime later in the week.

Knowing that Jamie will almost certainly be hungry for more than just dinner when they arrive back at her place, she’s also planning on wearing the red lingerie she bought under her regular clothes to work. It’s a little nerve-wracking thinking of wearing something like that for him—it’s been years since she dressed up for anyone—but it’s another layer of excitement to seeing him again. Angela is confident he’ll appreciate it.  
  
_Yes, don’t worry, I will be there ready for your arrival. :)  
Although there’s still Monday to get through after today.  
  
Yeeeahhhhhhh…… so uh  
About that :x  
_

Angela stops midway down the corridor.  
  
_What?  
  
_ Jamie has texted back instantly throughout the morning, so of course he chooses now to leave her hanging for a minute. When he does reply, it’s with a photo. A photo of a small window, looking out over blue sky and the wing of a plane.  
  
Angela’s eyes widen. He sends over another photo. A flight path, this time, with the map zoomed in close to the UK. Angela braces herself with one hand against the wall, ready to tap out a _WHAT_ to him with her thumb, but Jamie sends a third photo before she can.

A selfie. He’s in a business-class plane seat. He’s wearing sunglasses, a t-shirt, and a shit-eating grin.  
  
_Reckon you could leave early today too? ;)  
  
_ In her haste to reply, Angela almost drops her phone.  
  
_Ohymgod  
When???  
  
Be at the airport in two hours  >:)  
  
_Angela doesn’t manage to cup her mouth in time to stifle the high-pitched noise that comes from it. She does, however, manage to rush straight back into her office, swipe her handbag off the desk, and power down her computer while typing her message back to him.  
  
_I am leavign work right now!!!  
  
HAAAAAAAAAA  >:D _  
  
She’s never left headquarters this quickly in all her years of working here. Angela is on the underground in record time, setting up her out of office and promising herself that she’ll make up these hours next week. This train line runs directly to the airport, so she’ll be there in under an hour. Oh, god, she can’t believe he’s—that he would do this so suddenly, that he’s hidden it so well!

 _You’ve left this very late!!!_  
  
_Well yeah lol wanted it to be a nice big surprise for you!!! ;)_  
  
Angela sputters.  
  
_What, like your dick, you mean?!_  
  
_OOHHHH!!! ANGIE!  
What a DIRTY fucking mind you have!!!!  
NAUGHTY GIRL!_  
  
_You’re the naughty one!!  
I can’t believe you managed to keep this from me!!_  
  
_Oh I KNOW ;) aren’t you so impressed??_  
  
_I can’t even pretend that I’m not!  
I’m INCREDIBLY impressed. I’ve never been more impressed with anything you’ve done!_  
  
_MMMMmmmmmm  
Yeeeeeaaah that’s right, tell me how impressed you are  
Get this dick nice and hard!!!  
  
Oh my god, Jamie, you’re still on the plane!!  
  
Yeah, and in about… ohhhhhh four hours?  
I’ll be on YOU instead  
Aren’t you excited?? C’mon babe you can tell me you are  >;)  
  
_Angela squirms in her seat.  
_  
Okay, yes. If you must know. I’m wet right now.  
  
FUCK  
  
I think I was wet the moment you sent over that selfie.  
  
FUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK!!!!!  
  
_ Her hand is splayed over her mouth for most of the journey to the airport. Angela’s jaw aches when she’s there, a wonderful side effect of smiling so hard and for so long. The one and only downside to this surprise is that she hasn’t been able to give Jamie one in return with the lingerie, but that doesn’t matter, not when he’s coming back. Not when he’s done something like this!!

Having arrived with plenty of time to spare, Angela paces the terminal. She feels like she’s running on the equivalent of a hundred coffees. She checks her hair, her makeup. It’s acceptable considering she’s had absolutely no time to prepare for this, though she wishes she wasn’t in jeans and a sweater, that she'd at least been wearing a dress today.

Jamie’s flight comes in. He texts her when he’s waiting for his suitcase, and he texts her again when he’s in the queue for security and customs. Angela dashes through to arrivals, fingers gripped around the railing as she watches people from his flight begin to trickle out. It’s been a busy one judging by the number of people waiting at the railing with her. Then, finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, she spots him coming through.

Angela considers herself to be a patient person. She also tries to avoid public displays of affection, as she thinks that sort of thing is generally inconsiderate and undignified. 

The second she sees Jamie, with his freshly tanned skin, aviator sunnies and jacket on, Angela bolts from around the railing. She can hear him laugh, like he’s spotted her too, and then she’s running towards him, past the other passengers filtering through. Jamie drops his suitcase and opens his arms.

“C’mere!!” he shouts, grinning.

When she reaches him, dropping her handbag and practically launching herself at him, Jamie catches her with both arms, sweeping her right off her feet and swinging her around. She holds onto him tight, clinging and laughing as he squeezes her against his strong body, and when her toes touch the ground again Angela is so overwhelmed to be in his arms she lets out a happy gasp of a sob against the warm skin of his neck.

“Fucking—missed you—so much,” Jamie says, between the kisses he presses to her hair, her ear, her cheek.

“I missed you too,” Angela says, squeezing him with all the strength she has. She sobs again when he lets go of her, but Jamie brings his hands from around her back to cup her face instead. He bends to meet her in a firm crush of a kiss, and his lips are soft and warm, just the same as when he left. Angela kisses him back with everything she’s got, wondering if she might burst.

“Christ, you’re even more bloody beautiful than when I left!” Jamie says, a little breathlessly. She can’t see his eyes through the sunnies but he must be looking at her because he’s still cupping her face. “Fuckin’—look atcha!”

Jamie lifts the sunnies up then, and seeing his eyes—the way he’s gazing down at her—makes Angela’s breath catch.

“I—I didn’t have time to put anything nice on to wear,” she says, laughing it out even though her vision is blurring through unshed tears. Jamie scoffs.

“Good thing ya didn’t.” He leans down to her, smirking. “Otherwise I woulda shot my load right here!”

“Oh, Jamie!”

Angela never imagined being this happy over hearing his dirty talk in person again, smiling against his lips when he swoops in for another kiss. She _mmhs_ into it, a soft and contented sound, and allows him to tilt her head back slightly as he kisses harder. Jamie begs entry with his tongue, and it takes all of Angela's willpower to pull away from it, aware of the people walking past them. Jamie’s brows are furrowed when she looks up at him.

“We—we’re in public,” Angela says, clutching at his back. Jamie brushes his nose over hers.

“Who cares? Let the whole fuckin’ world see how much I missed ya!”

She whimpers when he kisses her this time, unbothered by how needy she sounds and parting her lips easily when his tongue brushes over them. Angela is shocked that she forgot how it felt to be kissed like this, because now that it’s happening again she isn’t sure how on earth she’s coped without it for the last two weeks.

“I just—I can’t believe you’re here,” Angela says, shaking her head. Jamie laughs.

“Well, uh, hate to break it to you babe, but you’re gonna hafta. Can’t stay here forever!”

“Wait, is—didn’t Roadhog come with you?” she asks, glancing past him. Jamie doesn’t look away from her. He’s stroking her bangs out of her face with his left hand, hasn’t stopped grinning the entire time. It feels wonderful to have his metal arm around her waist, cold and solid but utterly and completely him.

“Nah, he’s still with his mum in New Zealand. Went to ‘Straya by m’self don’t forget.”

“God, of course. I didn’t—it didn’t even occur to me.”

She can’t get over the way he’s looking at her, the fact that he’s here at all right now. Just as Angela feels the tears welling up again Jamie tugs her forward to kiss her hairline, preventing them from spilling over.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” he says, against it. “Uh—I mean, if I’m still coming to yours,” he adds, withdrawing slightly to give her a hopeful look. “S’fine if ya wanna come back to mine instead.”

“No, no, come home with me.” Angela pulls on his jacket. He leans down to her so she can whisper into his ear. “I—I want you to fuck me in my bed. Make me yours in it. Can you do that for me?”

“Fuck!” Jamie says, half laughing it. Now he is looking away from her, biting his lip like he can’t believe she’s asked. His eyes are dark when they meet hers again, thrillingly so. “Yeah, I can definitely do that. Don’t even need to ask.”

“I was hoping you might say something like that,” Angela says, grinning up at him. Jamie squeezes her against him, pressing so that their hips are flush and heat pools in her belly.

“Well then, babe, I think it’s time we get the fuck outta here!” he says, and then they’re leaving arrivals together, Jamie’s human fingers laced firmly in hers as they go.  
  
  
  
*


	14. Never Be the Same

Their terminal is the first stop on this underground line back into central, meaning the carriage is empty when the train doors open up. Angela tugs Jamie’s left hand to haul him inside with her.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” he laughs, stumbling slightly from being pulled. She turns to face him and grabs fistfuls of his jacket, partly to help him retain his footing but mostly to yank him closer.

“Oof!”

“When are you going to stop surprising me?” Angela asks, almost angrily despite having the biggest grin on her face. “Hm? When??”

“Hey, I’m just—tryina keep you on ya toes, is all!” Jamie says, looking startled.

“You do that enough as it is!”

“I didn’t mean literally!” he says, laughing again. “Well, okay, _maaaybe_ literally too, but only ‘cause you’re such a shorty!”

Jamie props his suitcase against the partition separating them from the seated area. Angela catches him wincing as he bends.

“Are you okay?” she asks, frowning when he snaps back up.

“Yeah, m’fine! Just—moving again after a long flight, y’know.”

He grips the overhead pole and hooks his free arm around her waist to hold them both steady while they stand. Angela is too excited to sit down anyway, and now that the train is moving and she’s cuddled into him, she’s reminded of the night after the Christmas party, the first time he held her close like this on their way back to his place.

“This _is_ a good surprise though, isn’t it?” Jamie asks, hopefully. Angela answers him by tugging on his jacket to yank him down into a forceful kiss. He makes a soft sound against her like he wasn’t expecting it.

“It’s the best surprise,” she says, when they break.

“Wow. Gotta say, I kinda like ya bein’ all handsy like this. Might hafta surprise ya more often!”

“It’s going to take a lot for you to top this one.”

“S’that a challenge?” Jamie asks, smirking. Angela gazes up at him, noting all the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose. There are more of them now that his skin is so tanned.

“If it means you have to go away again, no, it isn’t.” She reaches up to touch his face, watching his pupils dilate as her thumb brushes over his cheek. “I’d much rather you stay here with me.”

Jamie’s lips part to respond to this, but Angela steals whatever he wants to say by kissing him again, his arm tightening around her waist when she does. She wants to make the most of having the train to themselves while she can. They won’t be able to keep kissing when more people start getting on.

Concerned about indulging in this sort of thing in such a public place, Angela moves until her back meets the partition. She drags Jamie with her so he’s effectively hemming her into their own private corner. Again, he looks a bit startled by this—probably isn’t used to her being so physically forward with him—but he grabs the pole beside them and leans down to meet her halfway when she lifts up onto her toes.

Angela doesn’t keep track of how many stops pass while they kiss. Her lips feel tender when they break, though, and she’s alarmed to note that the carriage is already starting to fill up with commuters. Jamie seems oblivious to the people around them, already nuzzling at her neck like he wants more.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he says, murmuring against it. All Angela can smell is the leather of his jacket, though he’s a little musky from his long flight.

“Really?” she says, because she forgot to put any perfume on this morning. If she knew he was coming back today she would’ve made much more of an effort.

“Mmhmm, good enough to eat. Reckon I could have you for dinner?”

“Yes, but only once we’re home.”

Jamie lifts off her neck and goes in for another kiss. Angela tilts her face so he catches her cheek.

“Until then, we should probably stop,” she says, offering an apologetic smile when he huffs at her.

“S’gonna take more than that to stop me,” he says. “C’mon, babe, I’ve just spent the last day on a bloody plane. Few more won’t hurt!”

Angela doesn’t have the heart to resist when he tries again. She pops the collar on his jacket, a small attempt to hide them from the other passengers, and then she splays her hands on his chest, needing to touch more of him while they kiss. If they were back at hers already she’d be pulling his t-shirt off to have all of his warm skin bare on hers, knowing the rest of his body is probably as tanned as his face. Frustrated that they won’t arrive home for a while yet, Angela reaches around to clutch at his back instead, over his t-shirt but under his jacket, away from any prying eyes.

“I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” Angela says, breathing the words out over his lips.

“Yeah, I sorta noticed,” Jamie chuckles. “I like it though. Really weren’t expecting this, were ya?”

“Not for a minute. It truly is the best surprise I could’ve asked for.”

“Was a little worried ya mighta been… I dunno.” Jamie laughs uncertainly, glancing away from her. “Put off, or somethin’.”

“What? No, how could I be?”

Angela tries to meet his eyes. He’s looking out of the window, at the walls of the underground flying past them.

“Jamie, I meant it when I said I missed you. When I said—told you that I missed you all—”

“All the time,” he says, finishing for her. Jamie takes his hand off her hip to scratch his cheek. He’s blushing. “Yeah… uh. Don’t think I’m gonna forget that one in a hurry.”

“Oh,” she says, this small admission making her stomach flip. Jamie finally meets her eyes again. He leans down to press their foreheads together, smiling like he’s embarrassed.

“Really know how to get a guy goin’, don’t ya?” he says, gently.

“I was only telling you the truth,” she says. “If anything, I was worried about putting _you_ off with it.”

“Tch.” Jamie’s smile turns incredulous. “As if!”

The train stops, a rude distraction from this moment as the doors beside them open. He shields her with his body as more people pile inside, holding the small of her back with his left hand while his right grips the pole. Then they’re moving again, train cramped and air hot from housing so many people. Jamie ducks down to her ear.

“Why d’ya think I came back early in the first place?”

“That—that’s really the reason why?” she asks, eyes going wide. Angela hoped his unexpected return might’ve been because of her, but she didn’t want to assume without knowing what he was actually doing out there.

“Why else? Couldn’t leave my girlfriend here all alone after she said something like that to me, could I?”

It was wonderful over text, but it feels exponentially better to hear him call her that in person again. Angela’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, pulling slightly.

“I hope it wasn’t expensive,” she says. “The—your ticket, I mean.”

“Oh, it was. Thousands,” he says. “And y’know what?”

“What?” Angela says, breathing it out.

“Was worth every fucking penny.”

Jamie starts kissing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and the threat of her knees buckling has Angela clinging onto him. He pushes into her, trapping her between his body and the partition, and she can feel that he’s hard as he moves to kiss her neck. It’s only a small taste of what she expects he’ll do later on, but after going so long without any physical contact the effect it has on her is potent, heat pooling between her legs and her lip caught between her teeth to stop the whimper in her throat from spilling out in public.

If only they were home. Angela’s eyes flick over his shoulder at the people surrounding them. Most commuters on the underground generally avoid making any eye contact, but there’s a businessman glaring across at her, clearly unimpressed by their display. While she doesn’t want this to end, she knows what they’re doing is inappropriate, so she tugs insistently on Jamie’s t-shirt until he stops kissing her.

“What’s up?” he says, close to her ear. Angela wishes she didn’t care about making other people uncomfortable, but she does.

“People are looking,” she says, tilting her head away from him.

“And?” Jamie moves over to her other ear, not letting her escape. “Let ‘em.”

“Please,” she says, pushing gently on his shoulders until he withdraws.

“Come on, Angie, I haven’t seen you for two bloody weeks!” he says, pouting. Angela taps her finger against his lips.

“I know, but I was prepared to wait until Monday for you. I’m sure you can manage another couple of hours.”

Jamie frowns at her, though he huffs out a _fine_ when she lifts her eyebrows at him. The train has stopped at their required transfer, so she leads him through the underground tunnel to the escalator that’ll take them up to her station. Jamie steps onto it after she does, suitcase in tow. Even though she’s a step above him, Angela notices that they’re only just eye-level. He seems to notice, too, straightening up where he was a little hunched over to make himself taller again.

“You alright down there?” he sneers. Angela balances on her tiptoes, but this only brings her up to eye-level with him again.

“Damn,” she says. Jamie cackles.

“Aww, bless!” he says, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “Least ya tried!”

It’s irritating being patronised, but also undeniably pleasing to see Jamie standing tall like this. His poor balance and posture have been of persistent concern to Angela since the first day they met, when he almost fell off the scales during his medical. The fact that he’s standing so easily on the escalator now in spite of his pegleg is reassuring, a reflection of the effort he’s clearly made in her absence to hold himself properly.

“I must say, your posture has improved quite a bit while I’ve been away,” Angela says. Jamie offers her a toothy grin.

“Impressed, are ya?”

“As ever,” she says, grinning back.

“Haaa! You just like me being taller than you!”

“I’m really not bothered about that,” Angela laughs, though she helps herself to an appreciative glance along the length of his body nonetheless, remembering how it felt to be pinned beneath it. Jamie’s eyes are lidded when she meets them again, like he might be thinking the same thing. He curves his free arm around her waist to pull her against him.

“Well, _I’m_ bothered about it. Only time I want you looking down at me is when we’re in bed,” he says. Angela chuckles, resting her hands on his chest.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” she says, looking over his tanned face now that they’re so close. Tempting though it is to kiss Jamie’s new freckles right here in the middle of this damned underground passage, Angela restrains herself by pecking his cheek instead. She has to press her finger over his lips once more when he leans in for a kiss.

“Soon,” she says, smiling at the impatient whine he makes in answer. “Just one more train and then we’ll be close to home.”

The station is busy when they reach the top of the escalator. It’s also cold, being open-plan with no doors to keep out the chilling wind. Jamie hasn’t thought ahead about returning from Australia’s summer to England’s winter and is dressed as usual in shorts and a t-shirt. His jacket is apparently designed to look good on him rather than retain any heat, as he’s rubbing his arms where he’s standing next to her by the ticket machine. It would probably help if he zipped it up, though.

“Brrr! S’bloody freezing in here! If there’s one thing I didn’t miss it’s this sodding weather!”

“What you’re wearing isn’t really suitable for winter,” Angela says, getting her phone out to tap it and buy a ticket for him. Luckily Jamie is too preoccupied with the temperature to realise what she’s doing.

“If I had my hoodie on I’d be alright, but _someone_ insisted on taking it from me before I left!” he says, poking her side.

“I wouldn’t call it insisting when you offered it to me,” Angela says, without looking at him. Just as she’s about to complete the transaction Jamie startles her by grabbing her waist.

“Oh!”

“Didn’t give us much of a choice when ya looked so fuckin’ hot in it,” he says, growling it into her hair.

“Jamie!” Angela says, only half-heartedly scolding him. She feels very aware of the people standing behind them waiting to use the machine, so she’s grateful when he releases her to set his hands on his hips.

“What? M’not wrong!” Jamie says, triumphantly. Angela sighs, smiling when she plucks the ticket from the dispenser.

“Let’s get going,” she says, grabbing his hand. “We might be able to catch the next train.”

She tugs him through the station, eyes fixed on the electronic display in the middle of the hall showcasing all of the departing trains. Usually she has time to grab a coffee while waiting on the announcement for her train’s platform. They’ve just hit rush hour, so there’s a swarm of people underneath the display and a long queue at the coffee kiosk. Angela doesn’t need any caffeine, jittery with excited nerves now that they’re getting closer to home, and Jamie doesn’t seem particularly tired either considering the length of his journey. He’s probably running on adrenaline if he’s as excited as she is. They’re still holding hands, standing away from the crowd while they wait for the platform.

“Did you sleep on the flight?” she asks, tugging gently to get his attention. He shrugs.

“Eehh, sorta! Think I got a few hours but it’s not that late back home anyway, so I’m alright.”

“Perhaps you could have a nap when we get back?” Angela suggests, guiltily hoping he won’t need one.

“Oh, that definitely won’t be necessary.” Jamie waggles his eyebrows at her. “I’ve got _plenty_ of energy stored up especially for you!”

“I don’t doubt that, but you’ve just had a very long flight.”

He squints at her.

“Are you seriously questioning my stamina right now?”

“I—no, of course not! I know far better than that.”

“Good, ‘cause I meant it when I said I’m gonna fuck your brains out. _Juuust_ in case that wasn’t a hundred percent clear to you before!”

Jamie says this considerably louder than Angela would like. She shushes him, glancing around nervously, but nobody seems to have heard him over the general noise of the station.

“I can assure you, it was abundantly clear,” she says. “All I’m saying is that it’s no problem if you want to rest before you, um. Do that.”

“Nope! Absolutely raring to go, me!” he says, puffing out his chest. Angela squeezes his hand.

“You’re sure you don’t even want a coffee?”

“Eeesh, stop worryin’, will ya?” Jamie laughs, squeezing back. He smiles, eyes soft on hers. “Trust me, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Angela holds his gaze, touched by his sudden sweetness when he’s just been talking about fucking her brains out—then their platform number is called. She pulls them quickly to beat the horde of commuters also legging it for the train. Angela would be thrilled by the novelty of travelling home with any friend, being so accustomed to making this journey on her own, but the fact that it’s Jamie with her right now—her boyfriend, coming on _her_ train, to _her_ house—is far more thrilling than bringing any other guest or even any other date back home.

“Shit, hold on, I didn’t get a ticket!” Jamie says, when they come to the barriers. “Though I uh… could always jump ‘em, seein’ as we’re in a hurry.”

“That won’t be necessary!”

Angela thrusts the ticket she bought into his metal hand. Jamie takes it from her, looking puzzled. When she goes through the barrier and smiles at him from the other side his eyes go wide.

“Don’t tell me you bought—”

“Yes, I did.”

Jamie gapes at her.

“Bloody hell, Angie, y’didn’t hafta do that!”

“Hurry, our train is in!” she says, gesturing urgently at him. He comes through, reaching out to lace his human fingers back in hers, and then they rush for the platform together.

“Gonna get you back for spoiling me like this, y’know!” Jamie says, behind her. Angela shoots a coy smile back at him.

“Oh, please, it’s really nothing! You’re the one spoiling me in coming home so early!”

“Uhh, _you’re_ the one letting me stay in your house!”

“And you spent god knows how much surprising me like this in the first place!”

“Ohhh, is this gonna be our first fight?! Who’s spoiling who more??”

“Why do you sound so excited by that?!” Angela laughs, somewhat breathlessly from their brisk pace. “Anyway, we already had our first fight in my car, over the air-conditioning!”

“Shit!” Jamie says, laughing as well. “I’d forgotten about that!”

“I haven’t! You had me laughing the entire ride home!”

“Heh! Yeah, I did, didn’t I!”

People are hurrying to grab seats. Angela normally avoids rush hour trains for this precise reason, but she doesn’t care today, eager to leave London and have Jamie all to herself. She grips his hand as they merge into the crowd, and when they’re on the train most of the seats have already been taken. She hauls him into the last free corner of the standing area, where he drops his suitcase and leans back against the partition. They both need a moment to catch their breath from rushing, but Jamie is more puffed out than Angela was expecting, holding his stomach and taking a few deep breaths.

“Phew,” he says, watching the stream of people piling into the train after them. “S’lookin’ like we’re gonna be even more packed in on this one. Bloody chockers!”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get seats,” Angela says, worried about them standing again.

“I’m not.” Jamie opens his arms out and tips his chin at her, grinning. “Think you’d best hold onto me. Don’t want ya gettin’ squished!”

“How thoughtful of you,” she says, gladly cuddling into him. There’s no need to hold onto any poles because this train isn’t as jerky as the underground, so Jamie wraps both arms around her to cuddle back, resting his chin on her head like he wants to keep her in place.

The train fills up around them. Jamie has to shift into the corner to accommodate the amount of people still trying to get on, though he refuses to let go of Angela even when he does. He’s probably as happy about the rush-hour squeeze as she is, now that it’s creating another excuse to be close. Angela loves being pressed into him like this, a reminder of that wonderful train journey in Tokyo and more physical contact to tide her over until she can have him in her bed.

The doors shut and they start moving. Just as she flattens her cheek on his chest and closes her eyes someone’s suited back knocks hard into her side. Jamie sharply curves his body to protect her.

“Watch it, mate!” he snaps, scowling as the offending man glances over his shoulder. It draws the attention of a few other people standing close by.

“Sorry,” the man says, scowling right back. “It’s a bit cramped in here if you hadn’t noticed, _mate._ ”

Oh no. Jamie prickles up at this. The second he sucks in a breath Angela cuts him off.

“It’s fine, no harm done,” she says, smiling while nudging Jamie’s left foot with hers. When the man turns away Jamie is still scowling at him, so she firmly guides his jaw until he’s facing her instead.

“Some people are so fu—”

Angela balances on her toes and tugs him down into an unintentionally rough kiss. He responds to it as she hoped he would—immediately, by parting her lips with his tongue. She really didn’t want to do this considering the amount of people wedged in around them, but if subjecting their fellow passengers to a bit of PDA means avoiding a fight on one of the busiest trains coming out of London, she can live with it. Angela wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of going the whole journey without kissing him anyway.

“Behave,” she says afterwards, quietly.

“I’ll consider it if y’keep kissin’ me like that,” Jamie says, almost purring it.

“You know I can’t. There are too many people around.”

“Don’t fucking care how many people there are. C’mon, babe, give us a few more, wouldja? Been dying for this.”

Angela hesitates when Jamie leans in again, but his lips prove too soft to resist, so she clutches his back and tilts her head to give him better access. They end up kissing for so long that the train has already made several stops by the time they part and the standing area around them is less crowded. It’s still too busy for Angela to feel comfortable continuing for any longer than this, though, despite the heat in her belly telling her otherwise.

“That’s it for now,” she says, to herself more than him. Jamie gives her a pleading look. “If you can hold on until we’re home, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, caught between sounding interested and sceptical. “How you gonna do that?”

Angela extracts one of her arms from around his waist to run her fingers through the hair above his ear. It clearly hasn’t been brushed but Jamie seems to like her stroking it anyway, slightly tilting his head into it and closing his eyes. She smiles, finding the motion rather catlike and cute.

“By taking care of you,” she says. “Doting on you while you recover from your jetlag.”

“Oohhh,” he says, an amused lilt to it that has her stomach squirming. “I’ll admit that sounds pretty nice, but you’re gonna hafta be a little more specific if ya really want me to stop.”

The lingerie she bought comes to mind, along with a few other ideas she’s had while he’s been away. Angela hmms, tilting her head away to tease him when he goes in for another kiss.

“I could, but you keep forgetting that we’re in public.”

“And _you_ keep forgettin’ that I don’t bloody care. Isn’t like my dick hasn’t been hard this entire time anyway,” he says, albeit more quietly than before.

“Is that so?” Angela says, reasonably sure that he isn’t exaggerating. Jamie laughs, sliding his hands down from her waist to her hips. She shivers when he squeezes her there, when he rolls forward to bring their bodies flush, pressing his crotch into her. He is, indeed, just as hard as he was on their first train.

“Yep. Still a fuckin’ diamond for ya, even after tuggin’ one out on the flight,” Jamie says, proudly.

“Oh—no, really?” Angela cringes. “Didn’t anyone see?”

“I did it in the bathroom!” he scoffs, like it should be obvious. “Whaddya take me for? An exhibitionist?”

“Um.”

“Okay, don’t answer that. What I’m getting at is that this dick’s reserved for your eyes only, babe.”

Angela sputters, looking around them. Jamie’s doing a remarkably good job of keeping his voice down, in truth, and she can’t deny that it’s nice to hear this sort of thing from him. In fact, quite worryingly, Angela is even a little flattered that he was horny enough to do something like that during the flight.

Well… seeing as they’re dating, surely it couldn’t hurt to ask. She tugs on his jacket. Jamie leans down so she can whisper in his ear.

“I’d, um. Love to know what you were thinking about. When you were—you know. In there.”

“Shit,” he says, looking shocked. “You, uh, you really wanna know?”  

She’s probably playing with fire indulging him with this, but it could be a good distraction while they wait for their stop, a safe alternative to kissing until they get home.

“I do,” Angela says, grinning. “So tell me.”

Jamie hmms, eyes flicking around like he’s assessing whether or not it’s safe to divulge whatever he’s about to share with her. He coaxes her to turn around, switching their positions so her back is braced against the partition and he’s hiding her from the other passengers. Angela splays her hands on his chest, stomach curling in anticipation when he bends to reach her ear.

“I was thinkin’ about that day at yours back in the summer,” he says. “When you were all hot and sweaty, showing off your tits for me.”

This is tame. Too tame, she thinks, both excited and afraid of whatever’s coming next.

“I wasn’t trying to show them off,” Angela says, remembering how embarrassed she was at the time. Jamie’s hands travel downwards from her hips to slide over her ass instead. She takes a breath to chastise him, but he starts talking again before she can.

“Doesn’t matter, I still saw ‘em. Drove me fucking wild, Angie, giving me a show like that.”

There’s something intensely lewd about Jamie sharing this while there are still a few people milling around the standing area, and the heat it sends flooding through her is concerning. Hopefully nobody is within earshot.

“Should I be sorry about that?” Angela asks, figuring it’s too late to back out anyway.

“Not one bit,” Jamie says. “Y’gave me ever so much content to work with that day, but I couldn’t tell ya how many times I musta blown my load to your tits alone, wondering what it would feel like to rub my dick between ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, looking away from him in disbelief. Jamie snickers.

“Yeah. Used to think about that a lot. Playing with those big tits of yours, giving ‘em a nice glaze. You _clearly_ wanted me to see them, didn’t you?”

“I—you know I didn’t,” she says, belly coiling from the way he’s leering at her.

“Ohhh, I think you did. You _wanted_ me to fantasize about you, didn't you? S’why you’re asking me now, isn’t it? ‘Cause you wanna hear about it.”

He isn’t wrong. Jamie presses his crotch more insistently against her and Angela breathes in, suddenly unsure if asking him about this was such a good idea after all. Her palms are clammy where she’s gripping his shirt, and her face feels hot, knows her blush must be stupidly obvious.

“But y’know, I think about plenty more than just your tits when I’m beating one out,” Jamie says. “After tellin’ me you were wet when I was on the flight, all I could think about was having your pussy spread over my face. See for m’self how wet I made ya.”

Angela shudders, ashamed of how arousing it is to hear him say that. It’s a potent reminder of how it felt when Jamie was going down on her at his place, and she squeezes her thighs together in an attempt to satiate the burn between them. She hasn’t told him, but she’s thought about it a lot since he’s been away.

“Might’ve fucked you already, but there’s still _so_ much we haven’t done, isn’t there?” he says, almost cooing. “So then I started thinking about all the things I could do to you this weekend.”

“Such—such as?” Angela asks, before she can stop herself. Jamie hums, giving her ass a suggestive squeeze.

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff,” he says, casually. Then he drops his voice. “Maybe feed you my dick. Paint the back of your throat with my come. Bend you over your bed and fuck you like a dog.”

“Jamie!” Angela gasps, having never had such filth directed at her before. He just helps himself to a couple of kisses, trailing them over her neck. They’re surprisingly gentle considering the words coming out of his mouth, a delicate brushing of his lips on her skin, but it still has her biting back a whimper.

“You get me so fuckin’ hard, babe,” Jamie says, like he’s threatening her with it. “Gonna come right here if I keep talkin’.”

“Then maybe you should stop,” she says, even though she doesn’t want him to and he can probably hear that she doesn’t.

“Maybe? _Maybe_ I should stop?”

Angela closes her eyes when Jamie grinds again, pressing in just the right spot. She’s too flustered to know what to do with herself, pursing her lips so she doesn’t vocalise any inappropriate sounds. Jamie’s face is split by a shit-eating grin when he pulls back from her neck.

“I think you love hearing this,” he says, murmuring over her lips. “Bet you’re looking forward to all the fun we’re gonna have together, aren’tcha? Gonna fuck you ‘til y—”

Angela pushes forwards to silence him with a brief kiss, before he says anything else that’s going to make waiting even worse. It’s her fault for asking him, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy hearing all of this, crass as it may be.

“Thoughtcha said no more kissin’,” Jamie says, smugly.

“Yes, I did, but I also wasn’t prepared for that level of—sin!”

“Hey, you asked! S’nice being able to share it with ya to be honest, though I can be much dirtier than that.”

Jamie moves in again. Angela covers his mouth with her hand.

“I’m sure you can, but I think that’s enough for now,” she says, giving him the sternest look she can manage. It melts when he kisses her palm. “Save it for when we’re in bed.”

“Ohhhh,” Jamie says, voice muffled. She lets go of him. “Now _that’s_ what I like to hear. Alright then, I’ll be good.”

Miraculously, Jamie does behave himself for all two stops that remain of their journey home. Somehow it’s even more exciting that they aren’t kissing anymore, a mutual agreement to abstain before they reach the absolute privacy of Angela’s bedroom. Her body is thrumming in anticipation now that she’s had a glimpse into Jamie’s dirty mind, because for all of his vulgarity, it still amazes her that _she_ could be, and evidently has been, the subject of his fantasies.

“We’re here,” she says, pulling on his jacket when the train stops. “Ten minutes in my car and then we’ll be home.”

“You should let me drive back, I’ll get us there in two!” Jamie says, following her onto the platform.

“Oh, very funny!”

“You think I’m kiddin’? Told you I got my licence transferred, didn’t I?”

He did, via text while she was in Japan, though Angela has no idea what he’s actually like behind the wheel.

“You can’t drive my car without being insured,” she says.

“Bah, insurance! Who’s got time for that?! We need to get home!”

Angela skips on ahead of him, whipping her keys out of her purse to unlock the car.

“We do, but driving is non-negotiable, I’m afraid!” she calls back, opening the trunk. Jamie comes over and grimaces when he hauls his suitcase into it. Angela doesn’t know how heavy it is, but it seems odd that he’s struggling as it’s not a huge suitcase to begin with. Is he really that strained after the journey?

“Awww, why ya gotta be such a killjoy?” he says, pouting as she closes the trunk. She grabs his shoulders and pulls him into another brief kiss.

“Punish me for it when we’re home,” she says, smiling at Jamie's stunned face when she lets go.

“Wha—Jesus,” he says, blinking at her. “You’re bloody gagging for it!”

“Yes, thanks to you! Now let’s go!”

“Can’t believe I’m actually back in here again,” Jamie says, when he’s flopping back into the passenger seat. Angela is already reversing, focused on getting them out of here as quickly as possible. She was worried he might start flagging now that they’re off the train, but Jamie seems wide awake when she glances across at him. He’s smiling, looking out of the window.

“You implied that we were a married couple the last time you were.”

"I did?"

"Yes, you did."

For a moment, Jamie is quiet.

“Augh, don’t remind me!” he says, like he's just remembered. He covers his eyes with his human hand. “Thought I’d made a right arse of m’self with that one!”

“Oh, please, you know I loved it.”

“Still felt like a bloody idiot afterwards,” Jamie says, though he’s still smiling. He has his metal hand pointed at the vent. Angela wonders what he’s doing before realising he must be trying to warm it up.

“The house will be lovely and warm when we get back,” she says, before a panicked thought strikes out of nowhere. “Oh, god. I hope it isn’t a mess.”

Jamie balks at her.

“If you mean to tell me you are actually, _legitimately_ worried about that after knowing me for all of this time, babe, I swear to fucking god!”

“I’m not worried! I just—wanted everything nice for you, that’s all.”

“Puh- _lease_! Y’think you ain’t gonna get dicked if you’ve, I don’t know, DARED to leave your fuckin’ panties on the floor?!”

Angela tries to remember if she put the laundry on. Jamie shakes her shoulder.

“That was a rhetorical question!”

“I—no, I know!”

“Then stop bloody worrying!”

“Sorry, I can’t help it! It’s just—I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the fact that you’re even here right now. I mean, not just here, but—you know.” She waves vaguely at the space between them before putting her hand back on the gearstick. “With me. Like this.”

Jamie doesn’t acknowledge her immediately. Angela keeps her eyes on the road, though she notices his metal hand move away from the vent. When she does look, he’s holding it out to hers, coaxing her to take it.

“Isn’t like I’d rather be anywhere else.”

He’s looking out of the window again. Angela takes his hand, smiling at the warmed metal laced around her fingers, at this unexpected gesture. They sit quietly for a moment.

“Seeing as I’m such a dirty girl, somehow I get the feeling I’d be ‘dicked’ even harder if I had dared to leave my underwear on the floor.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Jamie says, glancing back at her with wide eyes. He looks delighted. “Alright, yeah, you need to step on it RIGHT NOW and get us the fuck home already!”

Angela just laughs. She prides herself on being a safe driver, but she wants to get them home too, so she puts her foot down and manages to shave a couple of minutes off their journey.  Jamie heads straight for the front door once she’s parked up. It’s dark now that it’s evening, their breath clouding in the cold air outside.

“Don’t you want your suitcase?” she asks, hesitating by the trunk. He vehemently shakes his head.

“Just leave it in there, I’ll get it tomorrow!”

“But don’t—”

“Angela, if you don’t get your fucking arse over here right now so help me GOD I will destroy it!”

“That’s a new one for you,” she says, laughing as she unlocks. Jamie is practically vibrating where he’s waiting behind her, and then she opens the door.

They burst inside. A brief tussle commences to remove coats and kick off shoes. Angela drops her bag just as Jamie grabs her into a swooping crush of a kiss, her arms flying around his neck to keep his mouth on hers. He kisses her so hard she wonders if he’s going to pin her against the wall and fuck her right here in the foyer, but instead Jamie hooks his arm under her legs, and she gasps out of their kiss when he sweeps her off her feet and starts carrying her bridal-style up the stairs.

“Carrying me over the threshold?” Angela says, clinging onto him. “I’m impressed that you’re taking the joke this far!”

Jamie barks out a laugh and hoists her higher up into his arms.

“If I didn’t, you’d probably start—tidying up, or offering me tea, or doing something else that’s gonna delay my dick getting wet!”

“Oh, honestly!”

She buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of diesel on his skin now that he’s taken his jacket off. It’s stronger than the last time she saw him, like maybe he spent a lot of his time in Australia driving some big gas-guzzler. Somehow it makes her smile, picturing him in his sunnies grinning from behind the wheel.

Jamie kicks her bedroom door open.

“Jamie!” she scolds, his aggression twisting her stomach in the most delicious way. Her bedroom is dark, but he doesn’t stop to find the light switch, simply throws her straight onto the bed. Angela bounces on the mattress and scrambles to reach the bedside lamp, hearing the metallic sound of a belt being unbuckled coming from behind her. She only just has time to flip the lamp on before Jamie grabs both of her ankles and drags her back down over the bed, making her yelp out in surprise from being pulled so abruptly. The mattress shifts under his weight and then he’s straddling her, keeping his prosthetics on but wearing only his t-shirt and boxers.

Angela grabs the front of his t-shirt to wrench him down into a heated kiss. Jamie tilts his head into it, tongue sliding over hers in the open wetness of her mouth. It’s a sloppy fight of a kiss, an attempt to make up for restraining themselves on the journey home, and just what Angela has been craving ever since he left.

“Thank you for coming back,” she gasps, breathing fast when they part for air.

“Shouldn’ve gone in the first place,” Jamie says, almost panting it out. “Score the hottest fucking chick imaginable then bugger off to the other side of the world? What sorta moron does that?!”

“The sort of moron I’m dating,” Angela says, tugging him down for another kiss. Jamie groans into it, a mixed sound of frustration and pleasure, and he grinds their hips together to push his clothed dick between her legs. It’s like he’s trying to fuck her fully clothed, and the friction of him rubbing into her jeans is so good Angela whines, wishing they were naked, that he’d take his shirt and boxers off already.

“Oh?” he says, smirking. “Y’like that?”

“I—yes, I do, but it isn’t quite enough.”

“I know it isn’t,” he says, clawing his fingers down over her stomach until he comes to her jeans. Jamie tugs the empty belthooks, a possessive movement that seems to tug her belly at the same time. “Think you need to get fucked, don'tcha?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Angela says, arching her hips off the bed for him. He’s already undoing the button on her jeans and yanking the zip apart, and his hands are rough as he tugs them down her legs, metal fingers smooth and warmed from the car. Angela pulls her sweater over her head and unclasps her bra for him to save time. She feels a little self-conscious about her panties—they’re so boring in comparison to the nice thong she was wearing the last time Jamie tore her clothes off—but it doesn’t matter because he’s already tossing them aside, leaving her naked beneath him.  

“Fuck me, babe, you get more gorgeous every fuckin’ time I look atcha,” he says, eyes darkening as they rake over her exposed skin. Angela laces her hands on his chest and looks over him, too, noting the wet patch where pre has leaked on the front of his boxers. All the skin she can see is just as tanned as she hoped it would be, and the moles dotted over his thighs and left arm seem darker than they did when he left. She’d probably be envious of how bronze he is if she wasn’t about to have all of that sunkissed skin on hers.

“Just like you seem to get more handsome every time I have you to myself,” Angela says, smiling up at him.

“Pfft,” Jamie says, like he doesn’t believe her. She digs her fingers into his t-shirt and drags them down, clawing to feel out his abs where they’re concealed by fabric. He grimaces at this, almost like he’s in pain. Angela immediately flattens her hands on his chest.

“Did that hurt?” she asks, wondering how on earth something like that could hurt him.

“I—yeah, just—sunburn,” he says, looking embarrassed. It’s a strange place to be sunburned when the rest of him simply seems tanned. Angela frowns, reaching to pull his shirt up so she can take a look.

“Didn’t you wear any sunscreen? I’ve got some aloe ve—”

Just as she begins to peel the hem Jamie grabs her wrists and pins them either side of her head.

“Oh!”

“Don’t you dare start fussin’,” he growls, before stifling her subsequent protest with a kiss. Angela _mphs_ against him, unhappy that he’s burned and in pain, but she doesn’t particularly want to fight him when he’s on top of her like this. His grip on her wrists is exhilaratingly strong, and they’re so slender in his hands that his fingers meet, fully encasing them.

“It’s fine, alright? No need to worry,” Jamie says. His smile seems relaxed enough to ease some of Angela’s concern, though he’s surprised when he releases her left wrist.

“Shit,” he says, blinking. “You still wearing it?”

He’s referring to her bracelet. Angela glances across at it and tilts her arm. She’s been wearing it daily, forgets she has it on most of the time.

“Would you like me to take it off?” she asks, looking back at him. Jamie’s eyes are lidded now, holding hers.

“What sorta question is that?”

“A silly one, I hope.”

“You bloody well know it is,” Jamie says, before kissing her, again. Angela cups his jaw until he begins kissing down to her chest, whimpering when sucks both of her nipples in turn to make them peak. The wet pop when he pulls off sends a bolt of heat through her, and then his mouth is on hers again, human fingers trailing down between her legs. Angela spreads them for him but he doesn’t slide into her yet—just cups her with his hand, an infuriatingly light touch.

“Jamie,” she says, a gentle plea against his mouth when he teases with his fingertips. She can feel how wet she is, the slickness as he strokes her lips without going in. Jamie elicits a soft moan from her by teasing her clit. He seems to be watching her reactions, lip caught between his teeth like he’s wondering whether or not he wants to play with his food.

“Hmmm. Maybe I should fingerfuck you for a bit,” he says, sounding thoughtful. “Get you off before you take this dick.”

“What dick?” she asks, laughing. “I haven’t seen it yet, as you seem to be hiding it from me.”

“Hiding it from you?” Jamie says, indignantly. He stops touching her to push his boxers off. Apparently he sunbathed with them on judging by the jarring cut of his tanlines, but her attention is drawn to his cock anyway, missing the tan but hard and wet with pre. Jamie repositions himself so he’s kneeling between her legs, back straightened with his hands on his hips. He bucks forward to show off his dick.

“Wouldn’tcha say it’s a bit too _big_ to hide?” he asks, arrogantly.

“Oh, yes, much too big.” Angela rests up on her elbows. “But—you know, it feels even bigger when it’s inside me.”

Jamie opens his mouth, likely to shoot back some quip or maybe tease her some more, but Angela bends her knees. Doing so cuts off whatever he was going to say, and she allows her legs to fall open, fully exposing herself. She isn’t sure what exactly possessed her to do this—should feel terribly self-conscious when she hasn’t even showered today. But the way Jamie drags his metal hand over his jaw leads her to believe she probably has no reason to be.

“Fucking hell,” he says, breathing it out between his fingers. Just as she goes to close her legs his hands dart out to keep them spread.

“I want you to fuck me in this bed,” Angela says, allowing herself to adopt a slightly more authoritative tone. “Until I’m yours in it, like I told you earlier.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lift up.

“Holy shit,” he says, like her tone has stunned him. “You dirty fucking girl. Alright!”

Angela grins, having missed being called that in person. Jamie leans off the edge of the mattress to swipe his shorts off the floor and rummage for a condom. Wrapper torn, he kneels back between her legs fighting to get the latex on his dick. When it’s on he grabs under her hips and pulls her body until the head of his dick is positioned just right.

“’Kay, uh,  _s_ _ure_ y’don’t wanna come first?” Jamie asks, searching her eyes. It’s a pleasant surprise that he’s asked when it seemed like he was going to go straight in, but Angela doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“I was under the impression I was going to come on that big Australian dick of yours,” she says, innocently.

“J-Jesus!” Jamie sputters. He’s only caught off guard for a second though, all sharp confidence again. “Well then, I shall rescind my previous offer, because hell fucking yeah you are!”

He reaches down to guide his dick into her. She gasps as the head slips over her clit, ready to whine at him for choosing to tease her after all, but Jamie gives a frustrated huff of a laugh.

“Shit, you’re so wet I can’t get it in!”

“I’m—what?!” she says, laughing as well.

“Yeah! Startin’ to think I shoulda—”

“Ah!”

He slips inside. Angela tenses from the abruptness of it.

“Woah, you nervous?” Jamie asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, I don’t—I don’t think so,” Angela says, panicking. She thought she was ready for him—certainly feels like she is, if she’s that wet. Jamie smiles uncertainly at her.

“Fucking—gripping my dick like a vice here, babe. Want me to pull out?”

“No! Don’t, please, just—keep going.”

Jamie hesitates. Angela holds his eyes, urging him to continue. Focused again, he grabs under her knees and pushes deeper, giving a drawn out groan as he sinks in. Angela flips her hair over her shoulders and exhales, adjusting to being stretched. Even without foreplay the thick slide of his cock feels incredible after waiting for so long, but his position reminds her of the first time they fucked, when he was all brutal dominance and felt too far away. Realising that this might be why she’s tense, Angela reaches out for him.

“I need—need you closer,” she says, her eyes hopeful on his. Jamie’s focused look softens.

“Aww,” he says, half-laughing it, before lowering himself to pin her. He smiles when she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“That better?” he asks, eyes all dark amber gazing down at her.  Angela smiles back, amazed that he’s still checking in with her even though he could quite easily just start fucking her.

“Much,” she breathes. She isn’t tense anymore, feels relaxed with him close like this. Jamie kisses her, a simple, reassuring press of his mouth on hers.

“S’better for me too,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll start off slow for ya.”

“Slow?” Angela is even more amazed by this. “That— _nh_ —that doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, this is just a warm-up fuck, isn’t it? Gotta make sure you’re all loosened up for me.”

She tilts her chin up for another kiss but Jamie moves to her ear.

“Can’t _believe_ I’ve had to wait two whole weeks to fuck this pussy again,” he says. Angela lets out a blissful sigh when he grinds into her, one long thrust to stroke inside. “But I’ve— _nngh—_ waited much longer than that to fuck it in this bed.”

Her eyelashes flutter when Jamie does it again, a luxuriously slow grind between her legs that sends heat bursting through her. Angela arches her body, urging him to keep doing it, but he doesn’t, just holds still inside her.

“Much as I wanna ruin you, I kinda wanna savour you as well, y’know?” Jamie says. Angela shudders, wondering how he can make both of those things sound equally appealing. She’s surprised by the latter, though—that he’s said something romantic like that.

“You want to—want to savour me?”

“Yeah, I do. Seeing as I’m finally fucking my girlfriend in her bed, I wanna make the most of it,” Jamie says, punctuating it with a harder thrust. Angela whimpers helplessly at this, hot all over from what he’s saying, what he’s doing to her already.

“How— _ahh—_ are you planning on doing that?” she asks, tilting her neck to offer more of herself when Jamie kisses there. He isn’t even properly fucking her yet but she’s so starved for him that this slow grinding feels heavenly, the best kind of teasing that’s stoking a fire in her belly. Jamie hums, thinking about his answer.

“Well, first, I’ll go nice and slow, ‘cause I know it gets you off. Don’t think I’m gonna last long myself to be honest, so I’ll need a little while to recharge after that. Maybe I’ll play with you for a bit, keep you soaked until I can go again.”

He pulls up to brush his nose over hers, a tender gesture that matches the softness of his voice and betrays the twitching of his cock where it’s buried inside her. Angela claws at the fabric covering his back, adoring this gentle intimacy in the middle of his dirty talk.

“And—and then?” she asks, just above a breath. Jamie drops his voice, too, so that his words come hushed over her lips.

“Then, once I am ready to go again? I’m gonna fuck you just right, baby, ‘cause you’re all mine now, and I want you to fucking _know_   you’re mine.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she gasps, overwhelmed that something as simple as a new petname could have her chest tightening like this. But it feels so intimate coming from him, his sweet possessiveness stirring a different and more dangerous sort of fire in her belly this time—one that ignites her whole body, head to toe where she’s pinned beneath him. Jamie seems to be making a concerted effort to savour her now that he’s fucking her, slow and sensual where he’s usually fast and rough. Angela tries to focus on the physical pleasure rather than what he’s just said, but the sheer intimacy of it has quiet, needy sounds spilling out of her mouth, and she tenses up, ready to come on him, for him—and then he goes still.

“Y’know, babe, if you really wanna come, you’re gonna hafta speak up for me,” Jamie says, conversationally.

“Whuh—what?” Angela asks, wrenched out of their romance and somewhat lightheaded from how close she is. She clenches around him in the hopes he might keep thrusting, then whines when he punishes her for it by pulling out. Jamie tuts, frowning at her.

“C’mon, Angie, you can do better than that. S’not like there’s anyone who’ll hear us!”

“I didn’t realise I was being quiet,” she says, pawing at his back. Angela thought she was being loud, but if she isn’t then it must be the residual fear of being overheard by Roadhog when they were at his place. Even then she didn’t do a great job of keeping her voice down, though. Jamie sighs.

“Well, you are being quiet, so if you wanna come, you’re gonna hafta prove it!”

Angela gasps out a laugh. “I will if you start moving aga— _ah!_ ”

Jamie slides both arms under her back to lift her chest off the bed, bringing it up so that it’s pressed to his. Caged in against him like a fragile bird, Angela moans over his broad shoulder when he starts pounding into her, raising her voice now having been threatened with the torture of being kept on the edge.

“Ohhh, that’s _much_ more like it,” Jamie says, snarling against her neck. “Lemme hear that sweet voice I’ve missed so much!”

“P—Please!”

“Louder, baby, louder for me!”

“Oh god, Jamie, _please!_ ”

He rewards her by rutting her into the mattress, and Angela clings onto him to absorb how good it feels to be fucked like this again, quenching some of her thirst from going without him for so long. There’s nothing slow or teasing about the smacking of his hips on hers, nothing sweet about the filth he’s hissing into her neck, and the sudden carnality of it is enough to finish her off. Angela holds onto him and wails as the intense rush of coming envelops her body, but even with her muscles gripping him Jamie doesn’t stop fucking her through it, like he’s trying to mark the bed as his territory, mark her as his prey.

He unloads soon afterwards, grunting loud and bucking hard as he does. Then he’s sagging on top of her, chest heaving and t-shirt damp with sweat. She was rather hoping he would’ve taken it off by now but Angela cuddles into him anyway, loving the solid weight of his body and being sweaty with him in the aftermath.

“I really… _really_ fucking needed that,” Jamie says, exhaling when he’s holding himself up over her. Angela relaxes her thighs where they’d been squeezed around him, smiling up at his flushed face and hooded eyes.

“I did, too. Was it… worth the wait?” she asks, panting more from the adrenaline of coming than from being tired. Jamie hangs his head with an exaggerated sigh.

“Angie, you’ve gotta be the smartest bloody woman I’ve ever known, but fuck me if you don’t ask some of the stupidest questions.” He looks up at her, frowning and huffing when he says, “Of _course_ it fucking was!”

“Sorry,” she says, smiling shyly at him. “I just—wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a letdown.”

“Uh!” Jamie says, apparently taking flagrant offense to this. “Where's all this anxiety come from?! I just got to fuck you— _you_ , Angela bloody Ziegler, my actual, real life, perfect ten of a girlfriend—in your own fucking bed!”

“God,” Angela says, covering her face with both hands now that she’s grinning like a moron from his ridiculous compliments. Jamie pulls her wrists to wrench her hands off.

“Babe, if I wasn’t gonna fuck you again in t-minus… er… Well, whenever my dick’s back in action, I’d probably spontaneously combust from how INSANELY fucking happy I am right now!”

“I’d really rather you stay in one piece, please,” she laughs. Despite the thrilling promise that he wants to go again, she’s worried about Jamie overexerting himself when he should probably get some rest. It’s taking him much longer than usual to get his breath back, chest still heaving above hers.

“Then don’t bloody doubt me!”

“I don’t! But it's—I genuinely don’t expect a second round, after the day you’ve had. If you do need to sleep, it’s really no problem.”

“Sleep? No way!” he says, puffed out but insistent. “Don’t need to sleep! Look, just—gimme a minute!”

Jamie wipes the sweat off his forehead before pulling out and sitting away from her, back onto his ass to peel off the condom. He doesn’t even give it a second look, though, simply ties it and throws it over his shoulder, and then he’s kneeling back between her legs, as though removing the condom has totally rejuvenated him.

“Do you really want to keep going?” Angela says, unable to keep the concern out of her voice when he grabs under her knees and spreads them. Jamie arches an eyebrow at her.

“Uh, yeah?”

“But you—aren’t you exhausted?”

He gives a derisive snort.

“Didn’tcha listen to a word I’ve just said?! I’m nowhere near done with you yet!”

“Ah!”

Jamie hoists her thighs over his shoulders and lifts her lower half off the bed entirely, holding her up to his face as though she weighs nothing.

“In fact, all this talkin’s made me hungry,” he says, breath warm against the wet flesh between her legs. Angela cringes, immediately self-conscious about the unflattering view he has down the length of her body. She hasn’t showered, either, feels nervous about how up close he is.

“I—but I haven’t showered,” she says, meekly.

“Oohhhh, I know you haven’t, you filthy girl.” Jamie grins. “Good thing you’ve got me around to clean you up!”

She jerks away from him when he moves forward. He frowns.

“Isn’t it going to taste bad?”

“What?”

“From – from the condom,” Angela says, because even though she’s been dying for him to eat her out again she can’t help worrying about it. Jamie purses his lips.

“Right, okay, I get that you’re a tad self-conscious about this, babe, but I LITERALLY jerked off to the mere thought of having you like this when I was on the plane. You _really_   think a fucking rubber is gonna stop me?”

“I… No, I suppose not,” she says, feeling silly under his incredulous look. Angela rests on her elbows and squirms when he leans in and nuzzles between her legs—grips the bedding when he presses a firm kiss there, followed by another, and another.

“Then stop—fucking—worrying!”

Jamie makes this an easy command to obey when he starts licking. He was gentle and slow the last time he did this, lazy from having only just woken up when they were in his bed. This time he’s deliberate and focused, kissing her, teasing her, the flat of his tongue wet and rough as he laps all over her. Angela is sufficiently loosened from being fucked and unafraid to let him see how much she’s enjoying this, canting her hips to press herself into his mouth. Jamie seems to like this judging by his indulgent groan against her, and when he starts sucking her clit, drinking her down like he’s enjoying a thick milkshake, Angela pulls desperately on the bedding, moaning for him without worrying about how obscene it sounds.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ I missed this pussy,” he gasps out, patting her trembling thighs as though she’s somehow the one doing a good job here. 

“‘This’?” Angela manages a trembling laugh. “So it’s not—not Swiss anymore?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Swiss,” Jamie says, with a note of dark amusement. “I’m just a liiittle more preoccupied with the fact that it’s also _mine._ ”

Angela cries out at this, at the way he drags his tongue over her as though he’s trying to claim her with it. All she can do is writhe on the bed beneath him and clamp her thighs around his head to keep him there, needing that sinful mouth to stay between her legs, those hungry eyes watching her every move. Jamie devours Angela like she’s a meal he’s waited two weeks to eat, and she comes so easily for him it’s almost embarrassing—though she relishes his satisfied growl when she does, the feel of his fingers digging into her hips where he’s keeping her held close.

She could probably lie here forever he’s so good at this, but once he’s licked her through coming Jamie presses one last kiss on her before laying her back down on the bed, extracting himself to grab another condom. Quivering, Angela practically bleats at him for daring to leave her like this, panting and splayed and trying to think of a reason why she was even remotely worried about him going down on her. It’s a sound she should probably be ashamed of, makes him laugh when he’s back between her legs.

“That good, huh?” Jamie says, smirking down at her.

“Too good,” Angela says, exhaling it. He’s left her in such a mess already she has to blow her hair out of her eyes, feels as though her entire body is pulsing. “I need—need more.”

Jamie looks smug as he rolls the latex over his dick.

“Yeah, I thought so. Alright then.” He folds his arms and tips his chin at her. “On your front.”

“On—my hands and knees, you mean?”

“Nah, not this time. Roll over!”

Excited that he’s requesting something different, Angela obediently rolls onto her belly, stretching her body out as though she’s sunbathing on her bed. Skin and metal fingers stroke down her sides in languid appreciation, and she shivers at the kisses he trails along her spine—gasps when he suddenly grips her ass and spreads it, feeling the wetness left from being so thoroughly eaten out.

“You would not _believe_ the amounta times I rubbed one out to this,” Jamie says, sighing like he’s reminiscing about some fond memory.

“I take it you’re a fan of this position, then?” Angela says, only somewhat breathlessly as she grins at him from over her shoulder. Jamie cocks his head like he’s evaluating a piece of art.

“Hmmm. I’m more a fan of your perfect fucking arse, but the position’s alright too I s’pose!”

Angela laughs, burying her face into the bedding to try and hide from how ridiculously happy she is to hear this, that he isn’t allowing her to be nervous despite being so exposed.

Jamie’s body is hot and heavy when he lies on top of her, cock hard where it’s nestled against her ass. He rolls his hips to grind into her, groaning as he does, and Angela presses back into his pelvis to give him more friction, pleased with herself when he hisses out a _fuck_ in response. God, he’s—it’s like he’s making her addicted to all this, shameless where she’s so used to being self-conscious.

“You just can’t get enough of me, can ya?” Jamie says, an amused purr over her shoulder that sends a delicious chill down her spine.

“I think—the feeling is mutual,” Angela says, huffing from the crush of his body on hers. Jamie slides his hands around her front to squeeze her tits. Being simultaneously pinned and manhandled by him has her moaning again, because the grip of his metal hand is tighter and less controlled than his left, like he’s so desperate for her he can’t fully control himself.

“You fuckin’ know it’s mutual,” Jamie says, pinching her nipples while grinding into her. Angela offers up the most indecent sounding whine she can manage to try and tempt him into actually fucking her again. She’s aching for him now, too horny to be worried about his jetlag, and what he’s doing is an overload of stimulation in every spot except the one she needs. 

“Ohh, Angie, you are just begging to be fucked making noises like that for me. Didn’t think you were in such a hurry!”

“I-I’m not in any hurry,” she says. “I’m just—horny.”

“I can see that!” Jamie says, laughing. She shudders at the swipe of his tongue on the nape of her neck, sharp teeth brushing over her skin to taste her. “But y’know, I seem to recall you asking me to punish you for making me wait…”

He rolls her nipples between his fingers, teasing to the point of frustration. Angela whimpers for him, raising her hips off the bed like a cat begging to be stroked, but he still doesn’t fuck her, dick hard where it’s seated over her ass. It isn’t like Jamie to be so restrained. Normally he isn’t this slow—would’ve at least started fingering her by now, taking care of her before giving her what she really needs. He said himself he was going to fuck her just right. Doesn’t he want to try out this new position?

“That—yes, that's true,” Angela says, toes scraping over the bedsheets for purchase from being teased. “But I didn’t—didn’t think it would involve you restraining yourself.”

Jamie seems to pause at this, going still on top of her. Angela thinks he’s finally going to indulge her by sliding his cock into her again, but he lifts off her completely. Jamie pulls her by the hip until she rolls onto her back, and then straddles her, hands braced either side of her head with his wrapped dick resting over her abdomen. Angela smiles up at him only for her stomach to drop at the sadness of it when he smiles back.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, alarmed by this sudden change.

“Nothing, just. M'not restraining myself, babe. What’s the rush?”

“What? There isn’t one,” she says, confused, but Jamie’s eyebrows draw together like he doesn’t quite believe her. Angela panics, thinking that she’s somehow managed to upset him, so she reaches out to cup his face with both hands.

“Have—did I say something wrong?”

She’s relieved when he shakes his head, his smile down at her more embarrassed than upset.

“’Course not,” Jamie says, though he still looks uncomfortable. “S’just. I dunno.”

“What?” she asks, as gently as she can. Jamie rubs his neck, going quiet. Hoping to encourage rather than force whatever it is out of him, Angela brushes the pads of her thumbs over the tanned skin of his cheeks.

“Wish I wasn’t so fucking—shit at this,” he says, laughing nervously.

“You’re not, not at all,” Angela says, firmly. This vulnerability from him is concerning when she’s so used to his confidence, but it’s also very comforting, reassuring that he’s letting her see it again, especially when they’re in the middle of foreplay. “You can talk to me, Jamie, it’s okay.”

He brushes his fingers through her bangs, frowning like he’s thinking hard about what he wants to say.

“S’just—‘course it makes me happy that you’re gagging for it. I am too, s’not like my dick isn’t hurting right now from how bad I wanna bone ya. I just sorta... wanted to take my time with it.”

“Oh,” Angela says. She wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but she definitely wasn’t expecting him to say something like this.

“Yeah.” Jamie scratches his head. “I dunno, every time we’re together it’s one big fucking rush to cram everything in. Fucking—at the party, at my place. Feels like every bloody moment we have is stolen.”

Angela’s lips part on a breath to find an answer to this, but nothing comes, because—he’s right. They’ve barely had any time together before something has happened to wrench them apart again. Just as she goes to say something, possibly an apology for how things have been or the fact that she’s unintentionally rushed him, Jamie stops her by stroking the back of his human fingers along her jawline.

“I don’t wanna have you on stolen time anymore,” he says, quietly.

Angela stares up at him. She needs a moment before she can speak.

“Nor—nor I you,” she says, breathing it out. Jamie leans down to kiss her, but just as she tilts up to meet him he pauses. Angela’s stomach drops again, but somehow it’s worse this time, a deep and heavy weight stirring that dangerous feeling from before.

“Then just—let me enjoy you for a bit, alright?” he says, so softly. “Try my hand at this fuckin’—boyfriend shit.”

He does kiss her then, something long and slow that’s hungry in a different way to the kisses they’ve shared until now. Angela can taste herself when his tongue parts her lips, but it doesn’t really register, not when he’s kissing her tenderly like this, his version of trying that may as well be expert for how it’s making her feel. It’s like he’s reinforcing what he’s just said—everything he’s said, everything he’s ever done in all the stolen moments they’ve shared—and Angela can’t help thinking that for someone who was so afraid of commitment, Jamie seems to have an excellent understanding of what it means to be committed.

She holds his face and kisses back as well as she can, once again trying to focus on the softness of his lips rather than the warmth blossoming in her chest. Jamie kisses across her cheek to her ear, without grinding against her even though his cock is still twitching where it’s resting on her, and Angela strokes her hands up from the back of his neck until her fingers find their way into his hair. It feels matted, textured, as though the last time it was washed might’ve been in the sea. She tilts her face into it, breathing him in, and she swears she can smell the coast on him, the sun and the sea and all the distance he’s travelled to be with her tonight.

He’s sucking on her neck now, probably trying to leave another hickey, but Angela has to gently pry him off her, because she needs to look at him, cradle his handsome face in her hands and appreciate that it’s hers, that _he’s_ hers. Somehow it’s been so easy to forget that he is, an unbelievable fact that’s been neglected in her desperation for simply wanting to be with him, lost in so many texts and timezones, miles and miles that’ve kept them apart.

“I’m sorry if I’ve—if I’ve rushed you at all, in any of this,” Angela says, gazing up at him. “I haven’t wanted to.”

“I know that, s’no need to be sorry,” Jamie says, back to frowning. “Wasn’t tryina make ya feel bad.”

“You haven’t, it's just. I’m so used to clinging onto every moment we have that I can’t help being greedy for you.”

“Greedy for me,” Jamie repeats, sitting back. He’s grinning, a look of happy shock. “Christ.”

“Well, it’s true!” Angela says, helping herself to a brief glance down the length of his body. “It’s hard not to be greedy when you’re so irresistible.”

A laugh bursts out of him like he can’t believe she’s just said that.

“Irresistible?! Oh, now I _know_ you’re just fucking with me!” Jamie says, though he looks far too happy to fully cringe at it.

“You know very well that I’m not,” she says, airily. “In fact, I’d say it’s entirely your fault that I’m like this.”

“Like what?” he says, looming over her and lowering his voice. “A dirty girl?”

Angela tugs on the front of Jamie's shirt to bring him even closer.

“ _Your_ dirty girl,” she says, sure she can see him actually shiver in response to this.

“Well then, I’d best not keep my dirty girl waiting if she needs my big fucking dick, had I?”

Angela laughs against his mouth when he kisses her, spreads her legs when he repositions between them. Jamie guides her thighs around his waist, patting them until she crosses her legs behind his back to trap him in. He reaches down to slap his dick over her pubic mound, making her gasp out another laugh, and then he’s feeding it back into her, hot and thick and filling her up. Angela is so relaxed and ready for it he hilts her easily, and it feels even better to be connected to him like this after everything he’s said, another reinforcement of his commitment, of the incredible power he has over her.

“Gettin’ pretty good at taking this dick, aren’tcha?” Jamie says, curving his hands under her back to draw her up to him again. Angela drags her nails over his shoulder blades and squeezes her thighs around him, loving the little _nngh_ he gives and the way he bites his lip at her.

“That—that’s because it belongs to me,” she says, her lips grazing his as she speaks. Jamie actually laughs at this, something clipped and disbelieving. “And it helps that I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Still nowhere near enough though. Gonna turn you into a dick-taking champion now that I’m back.”

“I want you to, but only if it’s yours,” Angela says, grinning, making him laugh again.

“S’cute thatcha think I’m gonna let anyone else anywhere near you,” Jamie says, darkly. “You’re my fucking property now, Angie. _Mine_.”

Maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does to be dehumanised like that, but when Jamie finally begins thrusting again, nice and slow to get her started, she’s too consumed by the stroke of his dick and the powerful crush of his body to care. Angela doesn’t even notice the hickeys he’s sucking onto her neck until he’s moving to her lips instead, kissing her sloppily, open-mouthed, trying to eat her up. A thin trail of moisture keeps their lips connected when Jamie lifts off to watch her while he fucks her, and Angela’s body burns under the look of fire he’s giving her, amber eyes narrowed down on hers.

“Yeah, keep making those faces for me, baby,” Jamie says, voice thick with pleasure, and Angela thinks she’d do anything he asked so long as he called her that.

“Jamie,” she says, a mewled plea for him, “please, it’s so good—so good—!”

“That's it, show me,” he snarls, “show me how fucking good it feels taking this big dick!”

Angela tips her head back and lets out a brazen moan for him, closing her eyes and arching her back without even a hint of shame for how she must look. Jamie growls his approval and ups the pace, starts slamming into her so aggressively it rocks the whole bed along with them. It’s the rough kind of sex she’s come to expect from him, come to crave thanks to his teasing, and all she can do is claw his back and moan out his name, wanting him to hear how badly she’s needed this and how much she’s missed him. Jamie groans like this is what he needed too, and as they move together their skin slides from how slick it is, Angela gasping over his shoulder while Jamie pants into her neck.

The heat is suffocating when he’s trapping her in like this, t-shirt soaked where it’s pressed between them. She clings onto him anyway because all she can smell is diesel and sweat and sea, Junkrat and Jamie and the man who’s unbelievably hers, and it’s intoxicating when she’s spent the last two weeks deprived of him, craving hands both metal and flesh on her skin. Jamie fucks her until she comes, a full-body seize that’s so intense she chokes on it, and even in the searing heat of coming it seems impossible to think that she’s gone two weeks—no, her entire life without being wanted like this, his insatiable hunger for her making a mockery of every other man she’s been with.

“Need to come,” Jamie says urgently, panting it out. Angela is too dazed to know how long they’ve been going for but it must’ve been a while because she vaguely registers feeling impressed that he hasn’t finished yet. “Hands—hands and knees!”

He pulls out of her, swiping his metal hand over his face to flick away the sweat, and even in her dazed state Angela manages to blindly drag herself onto all fours as commanded.

“Please,” she says, whimpering it, because she needs to be full again, needs more of him, all of him.

“Oh, babe, that’s just not fair! Y’know I can’t resist when ya beg for me like that,” he says, predatory as he bends over her body, caging her in once more.

“I don’t—don’t want you to resist,” she says, lowering her upper half onto the bed and raising her ass, gladly submitting herself as his next meal. Jamie laughs at her delighted cry when he slaps it, but he doesn’t tease her more than this, just pushes right back in to pick up where he left off.

“You really are a greedy fucking girl,” he says, hissing it, and Angela just whimpers again, because she is, she’s desperately greedy for him, and she’s so, so pleased that he knows it. Jamie pulls her hips to meet every thrust, loud wet smacks that have her toes curling against the sheets and her throat strained from how much she’s moaning. The sound of it is stifled anyway because her face is pressed into the bedding, pushed from the force of his thrusts now that he’s going for it, but Angela can’t seem to stop smiling anyway, blissfully happy to be under him like this being fucked into her own bed.

Suddenly Jamie’s breath comes hot over her shoulder, and she tilts her face to try and look around at him through her mussed, damp hair.

“Mine,” he says, through gritted teeth, “you’re mine, Angie, you’re all—fucking— _mine!_ ”

He punctuates it with three brutal shoves, coming so hard and groaning so loud on the third his voice breaks, and Angela wails with him, trying to vocalise that she is even though it feels like she’s drowning beneath him.

“Fuck, I wish I could fuck you all night long,” Jamie says, raspy now, resting his forehead on the nape of her neck, “but babe—m’fuckin’—m’gonna pass out here.”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, her immediate concern enough to drag her back to the surface. His breathing is ragged, and while his thrusts have petered off Jamie still hasn’t stopped, his body a heavier weight than it should be where he must be struggling to hold himself up over her. 

“Juh—Jamie,” she says, finding the coherence to reach back and swat at him, “please—please stop!”

It’s jarring when he pulls out of her, leaving her empty where she’s been perfectly full. Angela’s thighs are trembling where they’ve been spread for such a long time so she allows herself a moment to just exist like this, completely fucked out with her ass still in the air and her cheek cushioned on the bed. She can hear the peeling of latex before Jamie crashes beside her, and she breathes out a little laugh at the ungodly groan he gives now that he’s sprawled out on her bed.

“S’fuckin’ good to lay down,” he says, slurring it. Jamie's eyes are closed already, face flushed and shiny with sweat. Angela’s arms shake when she pushes up onto her elbows, crawling closer to him so she can brush her fingers through the hair above his ear. He looks absolutely exhausted.

“Just—just rest now,” she says, softly, but even in his exhausted state Jamie lifts his left arm up, beckoning her to his side.

“Here,” he says, scowling without opening his eyes. Angela’s body aches where her muscles have tensed and relaxed from coming, but she immediately nestles in against him, smiles when his arm curves around her shoulders. Jamie’s heartbeat is strong and fast where her face is pressed into his chest, and she closes her eyes as she listens to it, tired herself and grateful that he wants to be close in the aftermath.

Angela doesn’t realise she’s dozed off until she’s waking up again, everything blurry for a second before her eyes fully open. Jamie is totally crashed out beside her, splayed and snoring. She glances over to her bedside alarm clock. It isn’t particularly late, not really late enough for her to feel sleepy now that she’s had a brief rest, but her stomach gives a painful gurgle just as she goes to lie back down with him. Jamie texted her to let her know he was coming home when she was going to lunch, meaning breakfast has been her only meal today, hours and hours ago. She should probably eat something.

Dozing has helped, but Angela’s thighs are still aching, so she gives herself another minute before easing off the bed and plucking his hoodie from the back of her door. Her bedroom is warm but the sweat on her body has cooled enough for her to need clothing, and she tugs the duvet over Jamie to keep him covered, too, worried about the sweat on his shirt making him cold.

Smiling at the sight of him wrapped up in her bed and satisfied that he’s comfortably asleep, Angela heads down to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Jamie’s surprise return was more than worth her stomach grumbling at her now, and she comes back upstairs after making herself dinner to shower and brush her teeth, wanting to be with him even if he is asleep. Feeling refreshed and clean where she was so mussed and sticky, Angela tiptoes into her bedroom. She’s excited about snuggling up with Jamie but she also doesn’t want to wake him, so she tries to pull back the covers as carefully as she can when she gets into bed. Unfortunately he must already be aware of her presence because he turns towards her where he’d been curled on the other side.

“Hey,” he says, sounding more awake than she was expecting despite his hooded eyes. He smiles sleepily, pleased to see her despite the disturbance. Angela smiles back, though she feels guilty for waking him. He hasn’t had nearly enough rest to look any less exhausted.

“Sorry.” She leans over to stroke a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes. It’s tousled where he must’ve slept restlessly and looks adorable combined with his rosy cheeks. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Nah, you’re alright,” he says, voice croaky. “Been awake a few minutes anyway.”

“You should really try and get some more sleep,” Angela says, concerned by this. His circadian rhythm must be completely off kilter for him to have slept so little. 

Jamie opens his arms out to her.

“Stop frettin’ and get over here,” he says, grinning. “Bed’s cold without ya.”

Well, she can’t resist that. Angela shuffles over to him. She’s delighted when he tucks her under his chin and pulls the covers up over their shoulders, wrapping his metal arm around her waist to keep her cuddled close. The press of it is harder than she’s used to, as he mostly hugged her with his left arm when they were in his bed. But the metal is also warm, a part of him despite its clunky chassis and chipped orange paint, so she shifts until she’s more comfortable, grateful to be in his arms regardless of what they’re made of.

“S’better,” Jamie says, kissing the top of her head once she’s settled. His t-shirt is damp, skin hot on hers where their legs are twined. Now that she’s clean Angela is aware that he could really use a shower, but she’s too content snuggled into him to care about how he smells, knowing he needs rest far more than soap. He hasn't taken his pegleg off yet either, but when she bumps it Jamie shifts, pushing it back so it isn't pressing into her before she can ask if he wants to take it off. He probably doesn't have the energy to.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, peering up at him.

“Eh, pretty fucked.” Jamie sounds less croaky, like he’s properly waking up. “In every sense, I might add, so not _all_ bad.”

“Would you like me to turn the lamp off? It might help you sleep.”

“S’fine, babe, just stay with me like this for a bit.”

Angela closes her eyes, delighted to oblige such a sweet request. She traces small circles over his back, appreciating how wonderful it is to simply lay with him like this in what feels like a prolonged afterglow. They fall quiet, cosy and warm in her bed. It’s almost enough for her to doze off again when Jamie’s stomach gives a loud gurgle.

“Can I make you some dinner?”

“Mmmh… s’temptin’,” he says, curving his body around her to stop her from moving, “but if it means we hafta get up…”

“Jamie, you shouldn’t go without food if you’re hungry. That’s probably why you’ve woken up.” Angela pushes gently on his chest, out of his hold. “Please, let me get you something.”

“Guess it has been a while since I ate.” Jamie rubs his metal hand over his eyes. “Don’t really wanna get outta bed though.”

“You don’t need to. What would you like?”

Apparently he’s craving something sweet. Angela has plenty of chocolate leftover from Christmas, so she returns to the kitchen to grab a selection box along with a tin of Brunsli she was planning on taking into headquarters next week. Jamie is sitting crosslegged in bed when she comes back in, bent over slightly and grimacing as he holds his stomach.

“Is the sunburn hurting you that much?” she asks, frowning.

“Nah, just hungry,” he says, straightening up and smiling at her. Angela hesitates before setting the box and tin down in front of him. It’s odd that he’s keeping his t-tshirt on but if he’s comfortable in it, she doesn’t want to poke him too much. She'll have a look at his sunburn tomorrow, once he's gotten more rest.

“Well, perhaps this will be enough to tide you over until the morning.”

The first thing Jamie reaches for is the glass of water she’s brought up too. He chugs it down without pausing for breath.

“Thanks babe,” he says, gasping. He’s spilled some down his chin, wipes his metal hand roughly over his jaw to catch it. “Didn’t realise how thirsty I was!”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” she says, kneeling close to him on the bed. The movement to reach out and hold Jamie's thigh comes automatically, spurred by her need for more physical contact now that he’s properly awake. Jamie snakes his arm around her shoulders to drag her against him in kind, like he needs more contact too.

“You—bloody hell, you’re wearing my hoodie!” he says, leaning back and blinking at her. “Jesus, I’m so fucking tired I didn’t even notice!”

“I’ve actually worn it every day, to be honest. I hope that’s alright.”

“Uh, yeah, of course it is! Looks way, wayyyy too good on ya.” Jamie bites his lip, giving her body an appreciative once over. “Like… _fuckably_ good.”

“That’s your new favourite word, isn’t it?” Angela says, trying not to smile. Jamie snorts.

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me, Angie! I could QUITE EASILY write an entire multi-chaptered novel on how extraordinarily, stupendously, dick-hardeningly attracted I am to you, but I’d probably need another fourteen hours of sleep before I could feasibly start it!”

Angela laughs helplessly, shaking her head at him.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I think fuckably is fine for now.”

“Oh, it is, is it? ‘Cause it certainly fits the bill, and saves me three hundred thousand words in the process!” Jamie rubs his left hand over her thigh. “Or I _could_ give you a more hands-on demonstration, if you’d prefer.”

Despite herself, Angela’s eyes flick down between his legs. Jamie cackles when she does, clearly noticing her looking, but luckily his dick remains soft, like his body is forcing him to rest. Thank goodness.

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option,” Angela says, patting his cheek. “Not before you’ve had those fourteen hours of sleep, at least.”

“Nnngh. Wish I wasn’t fuckin’—jetlagged n’shit,” he says, huffing. “S’not fair when ya look so good!”

“We had sex not even two hours ago,” she says, lifting her eyebrows at him.

“Exactly! Almost two whole hours!”

“Oh my god,” Angela says, laughing again. The grin on Jamie's face leads her to believe he’s probably joking, but somehow she wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t—at least, not entirely. “We aren’t doing anything until you’ve eaten a proper meal and slept, okay?”

“Gahh,” Jamie says, reaching for the tin. “Alright, alright. Hope you realise you’re gonna fucking get it tomorrow, though!”

“Yes, tomorrow. Understood.”

Angela kisses his cheek as he opens up the tin.

“These the biccies y’made for Tracer?”

“Yes, but a certain someone kept texting me so I left this batch in the oven too long.”

“Wonder who that coulda been!” Jamie says gleefully, bunting his shoulder to hers. He picks out one of the cookies that’s shaped like a Christmas tree and takes a big bite out of it. Angela squeezes his thigh, waiting for his reaction. Jamie chews for a moment before cramming the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

“Ishgood!” he says, mouth full and eyes wide.

“You’re welcome to have as many as you want,” Angela says, smiling. He grabs two more of them, a star and a heart. “I’m really glad you like them.”

Jamie ends up demolishing ten of the fifteen cookies she had left in the tin, sucking his fingers clean afterwards and leaving crumbs around his mouth and all over the bed. Angela brushes them off the linen, pleased that she’s been able to give him something homemade even if it wasn’t a proper meal.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, rubbing her thumb over his lips to dust them off too. Jamie’s eyes are heavy with sleep again now that he’s eaten, but they’re fond on hers, full of gratitude.

“Nah, those Swiss biccies were fuckin’ perfect.” He leans in to kiss her, a sweet peck on the lips. "Almost as perfect as you!”

“Oh, Jamie,” she says, having to lift a hand to her chest. “It’s nothing, really, I’m just glad you’ve eaten something. Hopefully it’ll be enough to fill the gap until you’re ready for something more substantial.”

Angela gets up one last time to turn the lamp off, and Jamie flops onto his back. He raises his right arm for her to lay with him. While he’s still in desperate need of a good wash he would have to smell far worse than this for Angela to even consider resisting this invitation, so she snuggles down with him, happy to have his arm curved around her again even though it’s his metal one. The hoodie cushions the hard angles of it, anyway.

“Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” she asks, talking quietly now that the room is dark and they seem to be winding down.

“Maybe,” Jamie says. “Sleepin’ feels like a waste now that you’re in bed though. Kinda wanna make the most of bein’ here.”

It isn’t so dark in Angela’s room that she can’t see him. When she peers up at him Jamie’s head tilted is away from her. He appears to be looking up at the aircon unit, the one with his sticker on it.

“You say that like you haven’t been here before,” she says, flattening her cheek on his chest.

“Well, yeah, but it’s pretty different being in your bed.” Jamie kisses her hair, voice deep when he murmurs against it. “Still can’t believe you invited me here in the first place y’know. Let me into your bedroom that day. Thought I’d hit the jackpot when ya did.”

“Really?” she asks, flattered to hear this even though it isn’t terribly surprising. “You seemed nervous at the time.”

“Uh, I was extremely fucking nervous!” he laughs. “Thought you were gonna make a move on me, leading me into your room like that!”

“I wish I had,” Angela says, embarrassed about how clueless she was back then. “That day was when I first realised I really, um. Liked you, actually.”

“It was?” Jamie asks, sounding surprised.

“Yes. It feels so long ago but I can pinpoint the moment I knew, even now.”

She can feel him craning his neck slightly, looking down at her. Angela avoids his gaze by rubbing her cheek on his chest. Jamie gives her a gentle shake.

“Well come on, don’t leave a guy hanging!”

She laughs, wondering why she’s suddenly nervous about sharing the details of her crush. It won’t hurt to tell him, though, not when he’s been so open with her.

“I think… what initially made me start to wonder was when you were flirting with me in the car, after I picked you up from the station,” Angela says. “But I didn’t want to assume that you were _seriously_ flirting, so I tried telling myself you were just being friendly.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jamie mutters, though she can hear his amusement in it.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for being so dense. I just—prefer to err on the side of caution with things like that.” Angela hesitates, before adding, “Even Lena made a comment about you flirting with me, as I recall. Back on our first night out.”

“Oh, of course _she_ would notice,” Jamie says, annoyed. “What, did she offer some elaborate critique on all of my shortcomings to immediately put you off?”

Angela presses a kiss to his chest, not wanting to get into Lena’s opinion of him.

“She just noticed, that’s all. I was the one silly enough to brush it off, thinking you’d never be interested in me.”

Jamie goes silent for a moment.

“Angie, I just want you to know that hearing that hurts me on a very real and physical level.”

“I’m sorry! I really—”

“I’m kiddin’!” he says, breath coming warm in her hair. “Eesh, it’s fine, I know what you’re like. Anyway, do carry on! I wanna know what made ya change ya mind!”

“It wasn’t a case of changing my mind,” Angela says, smiling as she thinks back on it. “I just needed to see what was already there.”

“Our _incredible_ sexual tension, y’mean?”

“Not just that,” she laughs. “When you came to visit me that day, something just seemed to click. As though being outside of work allowed me to see you differently, if that makes sense.”

“It—yeah, I getcha.”

“I didn’t have to be strictly professional when you came over. Though you made it hard for me to stay professional even when we _were_ at work.”

Jamie snickers.  
  
“Surely you aren’t implying that dirty, no-good Junkrat managed to fluster our prim and perfect Mercy, are ya?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying.”

“Haaaa!” he says, proudly. Jamie shifts against her, getting comfortable ready to hear the rest of the story. “Okay, so, clearly I was in your good books to earn m’self an invite. But what was it that made ya—y’know. Like me?”

“I’m quite sure I liked you from the moment I met you,” Angela says, cuddling him. Jamie fiercely cuddles her back, making an almost frustrated whine of a sound like he’s especially happy about hearing this. “But it wasn’t until we were in the hardware store together that I realised I was... well. Crushing on you.”

“The—wait, what? The hardware store?”

“Yes, when we were getting the parts for the units. The one in here that you broke.” Angela pauses, arching an eyebrow up at him. “Did… did you break it on purpose?”

“Nah, I didn’t. Much as I’d love to tell ya that was a fully calculated move it was just me being a clumsy bastard. Can’t complain though, if it allowed us a trip to the hardware store, where I did, uh—whatever it was that stole your heart.”

“I think it was simply the fact that you were there at all. I was watching you talking to one of the store clerks, and it just—hit me, suddenly. You’d gone out of your way to come and help me, and you looked so confident and handsome standing there.”

It’s strange telling him this after keeping it bottled for so long, a confession she sat on for months and months, believing there’d never be an opportunity to share it. But it’s nice, too, sharing her secrets with him in the middle of the night.

“That was it, really. That moment was all I needed to realise how much I liked you,” Angela says, quietly. A second passes where Jamie is quiet, too. He nuzzles the top of her head.

“You have no bloody idea how good it feels to hear you say that,” he says, muffled where his lips are pressed into her hair.

“It feels good to finally tell you,” Angela says, sincerely. “I really was _so_ excited to see you that day, you know. Nervous, too, because I was worried it was going to be awkward even though we got on so well at work. But it wasn’t awkward at all. You just made me laugh, as you always do, and you were sweet, as you always are.”

“Rrgh. Still don’t know what you see in me,” he says, mumbling.

“Really? You honestly don’t know?”

Angela pushes up from his chest, reaching out to cup his cheek. He tilts into it to kiss her hand.

“You’re—gosh, Jamie. You’re sweet, you’re smart. Strong and handsome but also completely and utterly adorable. Every time I look at the mole on your nose I want to kiss it!”

“Jesus,” he says, laughing as though this is particularly hard to believe. “Blows my fucking mind y'like _that_ so much.”

“I do. And I go all—fuzzy every time you say something that sounds particularly Australian.”

“Oh, c’mon!” he says, covering his eyes with his hand. He’s grinning. “I can’t help the accent!”

“And I can’t help being Swiss, but you seem to like that too!”

“Yeah, but that’s different!” Jamie looks at her through his fingers. “You _seriously_ mean to tell me you like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a part of you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck,” Jamie laughs, apparently stunned by this. "Fucking—wow."

Angela leans in to brush her nose over his.

“I really had no choice in the matter, Jamie. Everything about you made it impossible for me to _not_ crush on you.”

“Makin’ me blush here,” he says, though he sounds happy about it, too.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“Think you know full well I don’t,” Jamie says, gently.

“Good, because after all the times you’ve flustered me it’s only fair I get you back!”

“Yeah, guess I can’t really argue with that, can I!”

Jamie draws her further onto his chest to snuggle her, squeezing with both arms. Angela should be used to it by now, but the warm strength of his hold serves to remind her of perhaps the most important detail of all, one she’s almost forgotten to tell him.

“You might not remember, but you hugged me before you left, too, when you came to visit me,” she says. “If I wasn’t certain before then, I was after you did that.”

Jamie scoffs. “’Course I remember that. Was pretty fuckin’ ballsy considering I _completely_ pussied out on you in the car.”

“In the car? Oh, you mean, your reaction when I told you I was single?”

“Ugh, what else!” he groans. “Could bloody well kick m’self every damn time I think about it!”

“That was on both of us, really. I wasn’t nearly as brave as I should’ve been.”

Angela pauses, wondering whether or not she should ask about this. Jamie mentioned it before, that night when they were at his place, but even then she isn’t sure that he told her what he’d been thinking of at the time.

“I’m still curious to know what exactly you wanted to say to me, back then,” she says, figuring it won’t hurt to ask now that they’re sharing so much. Jamie gives a thoughtful hum.

“Weeell… my memory isn’t the greatest, but I’m pretty sure I had three distinct thoughts at the time.”

“Really?” Angela says, excitedly. “Tell me!”

“Ohh, I dunno if I can,” he says, sing-song. “I’m feeling awfully tired all of a sudden, think I might need to sleep!”

He’s teasing her—has a big grin on his face. Angela tugs on his t-shirt, giving him what she hopes is a half-decent attempt at puppydog eyes.

“Please tell me, I’ve been dying to know!”

“Fuck’s sake, baby, how am I s'posed to resist when you’re lookin’ at me with those bloody eyes?!”

“The whole point is that you’re not!”

“Gahhh!” he says, nuzzling her head with his cheek. “Alright, alright, I s’pose I can _try_ to remember, but only because it’s you!”

Jamie clears his throat.

“Right then. One, no fucking way were you single. I was ABSOLUTELY convinced you were taking the piss. Most gorgeous woman on the planet and she hadn’t been snapped up by some other lucky bastard? Please.”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” Angela says, cringing. Jamie fixes her with a disapproving look.

“Okay, just—do me a favour and actually fucking look at yourself in the mirror sometime, will ya?” he says, huffily. “Christ. Anyway! Two, if you somehow _were_ single, and y’didn’t wanna be single anymore, I was gonna do the honourable thing and volunteer myself as your boyfriend. Y’know, take one for the team n’all that.”

“How charming!” Angela laughs, though she’s delighted to hear this. It reaffirms the suspicions she had at the time, even if it’s undeniably frustrating to think of how close they were to dating back then.

“And I mean—obviously you woulda said yes to me, what with me being _so_ irresistible, and you being _so_ desperate for me,” Jamie says, smarmily.

“Obviously,” Angela says, though she’d like to think she isn’t lying, that her past self would’ve said yes to him immediately if he really had asked her that day. “And the third?”

“The third?” Jamie drums his metal fingers over his chin. “The third... hmmm. I’ve really gotta wrack my brain for that one. What was the _third_ thing…”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll use the eyes again!”

“Well, er, whaddya know, suddenly it’s all come flooding back to me!”

Jamie presses on her shoulders, encouraging her to move off him. She thinks he’s going to straddle or pin her, their usual position in bed together, but instead he simply rolls onto his side. They’re both sharing the same pillow now, Jamie’s left hand resting on her hip. It’s a new position for them, feels strange meeting his eyes levelly when she’s used to looking up at him. Perhaps he was uncomfortable?

“You _sure_ you wanna know?” Jamie says, smiling across at her. “It’s a pretty big secret. Gotta promise you’re not gonna tell anyone.”

Angela’s eyebrows furrow. Is... he playing around? It doesn’t sound like he is, and his eyes are hopeful on hers.

“I promise, I won’t,” she says, though it’s making her a little nervous, unsure of what’s coming.

“Well, I thought to m’self how unfair it was that this beautiful woman was having to do all this shit on her own, when she’d done nothing but look out for me the whole time she’d known me.”

Jamie strokes slowly from her hip along the curve of her body, all the way up until his fingertips dance over her jawline. The hairs on the back of Angela’s neck stand up.

“So the third thing was that I woulda done everything I could to help you, anytime you needed it,” he says, gazing at her. “At home, at work. Didn’t matter what. If you needed me for somethin’, I’d be there.”

Angela instantly thinks of Japan, when he had been there for her, when he’d travelled halfway across the world to come to her rescue.

“We—but you didn’t even know how I felt back then,” she says, struggling to get the words out around the lump in her throat.  Jamie shuffles closer, until she can smell the cinnamon on his breath. He’s cupping her cheek now, the pad of his thumb slightly rough as it brushes over her skin.

“Didn’t need to,” Jamie says, all soft confidence. “I decided right there I woulda done anything for you, as your boyfriend or not. Anything you asked.”

His fingers thread back through her hair, a slow and delicate touch. Angela draws a breath to say something only to find that she can’t speak at all.

“I still would, too. All you hafta do is ask me, and I’ll do it,” Jamie says, before leaning in and kissing her, rescuing her from having to say anything anyway.

It’s so gentle, nothing more than a brushing of his lips on hers, really. But somehow it’s more than enough for Angela to find her words when they part.

“I already have everything I could ask for,” she says. “You’re right here in front of me, aren’t you?”

Jamie’s eyes widen slightly. If she’d said this two weeks ago, he probably would’ve looked away from her, clammed up from it being too much. He doesn’t, though. Jamie keeps stroking his fingers back through her hair.

“Too right I am. Not going anywhere, either,” he says, smiling. "You're well and truly stuck with me now."

“Then there’s nothing more I could ask of you,” Angela says, and she’s the one who leans in and kisses him, this time.

There’s a small part of her that worries Jamie’s only saying all of this because he’s tired. It dies when his fingers slide around to the back of her neck, when he gently coaxes her forwards to press firmer into their kiss, telling her without words that of course he means it, bit of jetlag doesn’t change what he’s saying.

They kiss for a long time, over and over, just his lips on hers in the darkness of her bedroom, and Angela wonders how Jamie was ever worried about committing when he’s offering himself up like this and opening her out in doing so.

“M’so goddamn tired but I don’t wanna stop,” he says, eventually. He can’t seem to keep his eyes open anymore.

“You need to sleep,” Angela says, with his jaw cupped in her hands. “We both do. You’ve had an exceptionally long day.”

“Mmh. Give us one more. Jus’ one.”

Angela obliges him instantly, holding his face against her as she does, but she’s tired too, knows it must be late by now. Jamie grumbles when she pulls away.

“Dunwanna sleep,” he says, frowning.

“There’s no rush, like you told me. We don’t have to worry about stolen time anymore.” Angela strokes through the hair above his ear in what she hopes is a calming and rhythmic motion, mimicking what he did for her. “Please, get some rest for now.”

“Nnf,” he says, frown loosening. Jamie tilts his head into the pillow like he’s finally ready to surrender. “Alright.”

“Sleep well, Jamie. Goodnight.”

"G’night,” he says, mumbling it. She kisses his cheek, warmed all over by the smile pulling at his lips in response, and continues to stroke through his hair until his breathing steadies.

They may have spent months dancing around one another, fighting for stolen moments and clinging desperately to each one. It’s likely there’ll be more of them to come when they return to work, too. But she doesn’t need to worry about that tonight, and as she watches over him sleeping, the sharp lines of his face softened, Angela tells herself that every moment leading up to this was entirely worth it now that Jamie is here, right here, with her. It’s the last thought she has before falling asleep beside him, sharing the same pillow with his arm wrapped around her waist.  
  
  
  
  
*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huuuuuuuge thanks to [Sneepy](https://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com/) and [Muppet](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/pseuds/one_irradiated_muppet) for being my wonderful beta readers!!!!!


	15. Back Home

Ever since moving out of the city and into this countryside home, Angela has always woken up to an empty bed. This is because she’s only been living here for about eighteen months or so, and the handful of dates she went on prior to Overwatch starting up again were in London. None of them ended with anyone accompanying her home.

In fact, Angela’s last successful date was well over a year ago, but even then she hadn’t invited said date back to her place. Unfortunately, the chemistry she shared with Kyle in the park and over dinner didn’t translate into the bedroom when she decided to go one step further and stay overnight with him. Still, it was only through sleeping with Kyle that she realised a relationship wasn’t going to work, and despite how awkward their sex had been it was still better than nothing, at the time.

Really, even if she _had_ met any other date worth bringing home, Angela wouldn’t have wanted to anyway with the house being in its perpetually unfinished state. She’s nervous enough when friends are coming to visit, let alone someone she’s trying to impress.

So, when she wakes up on Saturday morning to the sound of pattering rain outside and the solid heat of Jamie’s body beside her, it takes her a second to remember where she is. Eyes blinking open, it’s a surprise when she realises she’s at home, looking across at the dresser housing all of her makeup products and perfume bottles. The more surprising realisation, though, is that Jamie’s presence here isn’t just some one-off thing, some disappointing date for Angela to inevitably regret later. He’s her boyfriend. Jamie’s her _boyfriend_.

And he’s also currently spooning her, right here in her own bed.

His arm is curved around her waist, fingers teasing the fabric of her hoodie—his hoodie, rather, that she’s still wearing. Even the hard press of metal where his other arm is tucked between them feels good, like he wants every part of himself touching her, flesh and metal reinforcing that it’s _him_. Many of Angela’s Jamie-shaped fantasies during her deployment involved sharing a bed with him, wondering how it would feel to be held in his arms and against his body. As her crush worsened the longer she was away from him, the thought of Jamie spooning her like this—wanting her in a way that wasn’t just sex—was more enticing than any of the other, much lewder scenarios she imagined with him. Angela doesn’t think there’s anything more intimate than being curled up with someone in bed.

Now that Jamie actually _is_ that someone, his body warm and strong and deliciously real against hers, it’s better than any of Angela’s fantasies. The one and only downside to it—just a small thing, negligible really—is that Jamie has snuggled so far into Angela that she’s on the edge of the bed.

Literally. Half of her body is hanging off the mattress.

She shuffles backwards to press herself into him. Jamie responds by curling closer, cradling her with the length of his body. With his chin resting on her shoulder she can hear him breathing, feel the corresponding rise and fall of his chest where it’s flush to her back. Jamie’s arm is a comforting weight hooked around her waist, holding tight even in sleep. Lying in bed with him on a rainy Saturday morning like this, Angela can’t help thinking that for all the cuddles and kisses and sex they’ve had so far, this moment, right here, might just be her favourite.

… but she’s still on the edge of the bed. Blissful though it is being spooned by him, she could really use more room.

Jamie gently squeezes her, an unconscious reassurance that he won’t let go of her, or maybe some way of tempting her to doze back off with him. Angela rests her arm on top of his, chewing her lip. It’s just after 8am according to the alarm clock. Jamie probably wouldn’t like being awake this early even if he wasn’t jetlagged, and Angela doesn’t want to disturb him when he needs rest. If she had more space she might be able to fall back asleep with him, though. Perhaps, if she could just… gradually ease him back…

“Nnnh,” Jamie says, shifting against her. In doing so he pushes her forwards by the few inches she’d managed to place between herself and the edge.  Honestly, Angela thinks, on the brink of falling off again. If only he could’ve done this in the middle.

Jamie laces their fingers together and nuzzles her. Angela finds this forgivably romantic until he grinds his half-hard dick against her ass, firmly enough to push her further still towards the edge. She hasn’t been put off by his metal appendages for as long as she’s known him, but she has to admit that it’s also slightly uncomfortable with the bulk of his metal arm digging into the small of her back like that. Deciding that she’d rather risk disturbing his sleep than falling out of bed, she wriggles around in his arms until she’s facing him.

Half of his face now submerged in the pillow, Jamie remains asleep despite her movement, his arm still wrapped around her waist. Angela presses on his chest as a gentle encouragement to move both of them backwards. Taking this as a request to move away from her completely, Jamie rolls over onto his back, metal arm on his stomach with the rest of his body spread-eagled across her bed.

Ah. This isn’t _quite_ what she was hoping for, but she supposes it’s an improvement. Angela shifts into the newly empty space that’s been warmed by his body. Of course now that she’s actually comfortable she misses being spooned more than she enjoys having more room, so she shuffles closer, to Jamie’s side. Angela pushes onto her elbow to lean over him.

God, he’s utterly adorable. Jamie isn’t snoring, but his mouth is hanging open, breathing slow and heavy like he’s still totally zonked out. His eyelids twitch occasionally where he must be dreaming. Angela helplessly strokes her fingers through his hair, partially trying to tame it but mostly because she just wants to touch him, can’t resist him when he’s looking so cute. Jamie doesn’t stir at all. He’s probably sleeping too deeply for something like this to wake him up, so she smooths out his bushy eyebrows before cupping the sharp line of his jaw, his freckled cheek warm beneath the pad of her thumb. Jamie’s eyes crinkle before cracking open.

“Hey,” Angela says, softly. She doesn’t feel so bad waking him when he instantly smiles up at her, something dreamy about it that doesn’t seem entirely down to tiredness.

“Mornin’,” he says, scratchy where his voice hasn’t caught up with him yet.

“I’m sorry for waking you, I thought you were out cold. How are you feeling?”

Jamie stretches briefly, grimacing as some of his joints click. Once he’s comfortable he raises his left hand to caress Angela’s face, mirroring her by stroking his thumb over her cheek. This sweet gesture combined with the way he’s gazing at her, amber eyes all warmth and reverence even though they aren’t fully open, has a knot of anticipation tightening inside her chest. Jamie’s lips part, and Angela holds her breath, waiting for whatever he’s about to say in light of the wonderfully romantic morning they’ve had so far.

“I am so unbelievably fucking tired I wanna die right now,” Jamie croaks.

Oh. Angela laughs, the knot in her chest falling apart.

“No you don’t,” she says, trying to frown at him.  “Don’t say things like that.”

“Hmmm. Alright then,” he says, still sounding horribly scratchy. “How’sabout… I’d welcome the sweet embrace of eternal sleep if it meant escaping this hell on earth that is jetlag?”

“Creative, but that isn’t acceptable either.”

“Well shit, was hopin’ you’da been impressed by that one. Thought it was _dead_ good!”

Angela groans.

“I will admit that was a decent pun, but can we move away from this talk of dying and eternal sleep, please?”

“Aw, baby, m’sorry.” Jamie reaches for her, pouting.  “C’mon, give us a cuddle.”

Angela sinks into him, smiling as he wraps his arms around her and presses multiple kisses into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmmm, s’better,” Jamie murmurs, nuzzling her there. It tickles, makes her squirm. “Whassa time, sweetheart?”

“Coming up to eight thirty, I think.”

“Fuck me,” Jamie says, apparently so shocked by this that he suddenly sounds wide awake. “Yeah, okay, I’m going back to sleep.”

“It really isn’t such a bad thing that you’ve woken up now. Your circadian rhythm would probably readjust faster if you tried to stay awake.”

Angela pushes up to give him an encouraging smile. Jamie arches an eyebrow at her like he’s thoroughly unconvinced by this.

“Yeeeah, uh, no thanks. It is _way_ too early for me.”

“I know you must be feeling dreadful, but—aren’t you hungry, even?”

“Hungry for some sweet, sweet shut-eye, sure!”

“You really don’t want any breakfast?”

“Nope!” Jamie grins, stroking along her sides. “Got everything I want right here!”

Angela searches his tired eyes, knowing that if he were to get up and persevere through the day he’d probably feel much better by tomorrow. Still, her goal for the weekend is to dote on him. If he’s insisting on more sleep, Angela doesn’t particularly want to fight him on it.

“Come on, Angie, no need to look all worried. Lie-in with me, won’tcha?” he says, with this hopeful smile that Angela couldn’t possibly resist.

“Alright,” she sighs, leaning in.

They share several long and lazy kisses, Angela bending to meet him so he doesn’t have to lift his head off the pillow. Jamie could do with brushing his teeth, but it’s still lovely that he wants to kiss her when he’s so tired, even if it isn’t quite the same as being spooned. She wonders if this might be enough to rouse him into staying awake after all, but after they stop kissing so she can snuggle into his side it doesn’t take a minute before Jamie dozes off again. His dick isn’t even half-hard anymore, the biggest indicator of his fatigue. He really does need more rest.

Now that he’s on his back again Jamie starts snoring. Angela winces when she goes to slide her leg over his only for her knee to hit the joint of his pegleg, having forgotten that he’s still wearing it. Her face nestled into the crook of his underarm, she’s also suddenly and overwhelmingly aware that he’s in dire need of a shower, more so than last night.

In retrospect, perhaps being uncomfortable on the edge of the bed wasn’t so bad after all. Nevertheless, Angela stays where she is. She isn’t really capable of lying-in, but she keeps her eyes closed in the hopes she might somehow drop off again anyway. It’s nothing short of a luxury being in Jamie’s arms regardless of his snoring and body odour.

The rain continues to fall outside. Angela feels twitchy. It was much easier to doze back off at his place, not just because of being on annual leave but because there, as his guest, she had no overbearing responsibilities—nothing to clean or tidy, no outstanding chores to do. The problem with being in her own home is that Angela knows there’re things she should probably getting on with, as she ordinarily would on a Saturday. She isn’t used to having anyone around to spend her weekend with.

Peering over the bed, she notices the laundry hamper in the corner of her bedroom is full. Jamie poked fun of her for it yesterday, but he isn’t awake to chastise her for wanting to take it downstairs now. In fact, he probably has a bunch of laundry that needs doing from his vacation as well. Maybe she could get his suitcase out?

Angela peels herself off him and sits up. Jamie continues to snore. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to put a load of laundry on, would it? Then she can relax in bed with him afterwards. Pulling off his hoodie, she gets up and throws on a shirt and jeans. She might be able to properly unwind after being productive, and he should be alright up here if she gives herself a half hour or so to get breakfast and do a couple of chores.

Invariably, a couple of chores accidentally turns into a couple of hours. There’s a batch of clothing in the tumble dryer she’d forgotten about that needs ironing, and then she becomes side-tracked packing away her holiday decorations, one of the tasks she’d assigned herself this weekend that wasn’t preparing for Jamie’s visit. With that done, Angela finally heads back upstairs to grab her laundry hamper and peek in on him, tiptoeing back into her bedroom so as not to prematurely wake him.

Jamie is on his side, bundled up in her duvet and sleeping quietly. There’s something sweetly vulnerable about him like this when she’s more used to him snoring and starfishing, his face relaxed and cushioned in her pillow with his hair wrecked all over it. Jamie’s cheeks are rosy, and when she checks his temperature with the back of her fingers his forehead is a little filmy. He doesn’t feel like he’s burning up, though.

She kisses his temple. An inkling of a smile pulls at Jamie’s lips, and he snuggles into the duvet without opening his eyes. Watching him, Angela doesn’t think she’d mind even if he slept through the entire day when he’s so peaceful and cosy here. Incredible to think that this is the very same man who said he wanted to fuck her like a dog yesterday. Resisting the urge to kiss him again on the off chance it’s enough to wake him up, she grabs the hamper and heads downstairs, leaving Jamie wrapped up in bed as a gift to be opened later on.

Angela is taking a load out of the washer when she first hears the distinct _thnk_ of his leg on the floorboards upstairs, but it isn’t until she’s surveying the fridge for something to eat that the _thnk_ ing becomes louder, closer, like he’s leaving the bedroom. Sure enough, Jamie is at the top of the stairs when she goes to check. He’s wearing his hoodie and the same boxers from yesterday, sporting the most spectacular bedhair she’s ever seen.

“Arvo,” he says, groggily.

“Hey!” she says, dashing up the stairs to meet him. “How are you feeling?”

“Still fucked, but much better for sleepin’, ta,” he says, rubbing his hooded, dark-rimmed eyes. His face is a bit gaunt, too.

“Thank goodness!” Angela takes Jamie’s hands in hers, squeezing them. He smiles. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Bloody starvin’ to be honest.”

“You are?!” she asks, failing to hide her excitement. Jamie laughs.

“Jesus, don’t look so happy about it!”

“Sorry, I’m not, it’s just—I’m glad you’ve got your appetite back.”

“I know, I know! Was only kiddin’.” Jamie lets go to scratch metal fingers over his neck, eyebrows furrowed like he’s slightly embarrassed. “You, uh. Think I could get a bite to eat, then?”

“Oh, of course! Would you like sit downstairs, or should I bring something up so you can eat in bed?”

“Nah, I’ll come sit. Need to give me legs a good stretch.”

Apparently he’s so hungry that he grimaces, holding his stomach while taking careful steps downstairs behind her. Angela pulls up a chair at the kitchen table which Jamie collapses into before asking if she has any milk. She puts a carton and glass in front of him, but Jamie ignores the glass and starts guzzling straight from the carton, so quickly that some of it spills down his throat and over the hoodie.

“Phwoar, that hit the spot!” he says, gasping.

“Clearly,” Angela says, wide-eyed as he crushes the now-empty carton with his metal hand. Jamie blinks at it, then at her.

“Shit, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to finish it!”

“It’s fine, really, there’s more in the fridge.” Angela actually feels quite terrible for not encouraging him to eat and drink more last night, if he’s really this hungry now. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat? I’m afraid I don’t have enough in to make a cooked breakfast.”

“S’alright, anything’s a-okay with me! Specially if I’m not the one cookin’ it.”

“And that includes fruit and vegetables?”

“’Course!” Jamie says, cheerfully. “Baby, you could put literally anything in front of me and I guarantee you I would eat the fucking _shit_ out of it.”

Angela laughs, believing him. “Duly noted. Let me see what I can make for us,” she says, though when she turns to walk away Jamie pulls her back to the table.

“Oh!”

“Bloody _star_ , you are,” he says, before kissing the flat of her hand. Angela just melts, loving Jamie’s easy grin up at her like he’s proud of himself for being so charming. He has every right to be, she thinks, left all fluttery from it when she makes a start on food.

Angela chops fruit into some yogurt for Jamie’s missed breakfast before cutting thick slices from the sourdough loaf so that he can dunk it in soup. It’s such a pleasure being able to make lunch for someone else that she can’t stop smiling, though she doesn’t like seeing Jamie so lethargic when she glances at him from over her shoulder. His arms are folded on the table, head nestled on them and eyes closed like even now he’s trying to nap. Angela knows it’s just hunger and jetlag catching up on him, but it’s awful to see him listless like this when he’s normally full of beans. He isn’t even bouncing his legs.

Luckily Jamie perks up while they’re eating, some of his usual enthusiasm back as he recounts the alarmingly detailed zombie-apocalypse dream he had this morning. Angela listens while buttering up extra slices of bread for him, privately basking in how wonderful it feels to sit and have lunch in person when she’d ordinarily be stuck texting him. Her phone is still in her handbag, abandoned elsewhere in the house. She hasn’t had the inclination to check it even once since picking him up yesterday.

Jamie inhales everything, to the point of running his finger around the rim of the bowl to catch the dregs of soup when he’s done.

“You could’ve just asked for more bread,” Angela says, cringing.

“Thought ya liked it when I used my fingers,” Jamie says, once he’s sucked them clean.

Angela bites her lip to stop herself from deigning this with a laugh. He waggles his eyebrows at her, leaning over like he’s trying to needle one out of her anyway.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

“You—no, you’re not, but I prefer it when you use your tongue.”

Jamie snorts. He lifts the bowl to his mouth and laps at the remaining soup, giving her bedroom eyes while doing it as though he’s genuinely trying to seduce her. Angela does laugh this time, gently grasping his wrist.

“Okay, yes, I’m intensely aroused,” she says, coaxing him to put the bowl down. “Unless you want another helping, leave the cleaning up to me, please.”

“Nope, I’m aaaall good now!” Jamie flops back in his seat when she gets up to collect the plates. “That was bea- _utiful!_ ”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can get for you?”

His eyes are brighter now than they have been all day, so it’s a surprise when he tells her he wants to go back to bed.

“Come with me?” Jamie adds, giving her puppydog eyes. Angela hesitates, clutching the plates to her chest.

“If you really want to, I will, but wouldn’t you rather stay up now that you’re awake? Have a shower or bath perhaps?”

“Uuugh.” Jamie’s voice is stifled as he buries his face in his sleeves. “Such a ballache, though.”

“It would probably make you feel better.”

“Reeeally can’t be arsed.” He lifts his head up. “Don’tcha wanna cuddle up with me instead?”

And there are those puppydog eyes again. Angela understands that bathing isn’t a straightforward task for Jamie, but if he were to freshen up it would make her far more inclined to get back into bed with him. She doesn’t say this, though, not wanting to rub in the fact that he smells bad when he’s already suffering. If she were to run a bath and fill it with salts for him, perhaps he’d be more open to it?

Hmm. Suddenly struck with an excellent, albeit somewhat underhand, idea, Angela carries the crockery over to the sink.

“I’d love to cuddle up with you," she says, giving what she hopes is a provocatively disappointed sigh. “I just thought running a bath for you would be nice, you know. An opportunity to pamper you before we do get back into bed.”

“To, uh. Pamper me, y’say?” Jamie says, like this has already piqued his interest. Angela grins but keeps her back to him, pretending to busy herself at the sink.

“I had something in mind, but if you’d rather go back to bed it can wait until another time.”

“No no, that—that’s okay! What were y’thinkin’?”

Perfect. Leaving the plates, Angela smiles as Jamie instantly straightens up. His eyes follow her hips as she saunters back over to him, and then she stands behind him and slides her arms around his shoulders, squashing her chest on his back. Jamie turns to face her with wide eyes, like a dog awaiting a treat, or maybe like someone who’s fully aware they’re being led into a trap but also doesn’t care. Angela rakes her fingers across his chest and murmurs close to his ear.

“Well, if you’d let me run a nice, hot bath for you, I was wondering if you’d like me to rub your back.” She drops a featherlight kiss on the apple of Jamie’s cheek, followed by another, and another, peppering them over his face. Angela adores the way his eyes crinkle, his sweet giggling from being lavished with affection. “Perhaps I could even give you a massage, ease some of the tension in these strong shoulders.”

He swallows.

“A—a massage?” Jamie says, thickly. Angela draws her hands back to roll her thumbs beneath the nape of his neck. His breath hitches at this, even though she’s doing it through the thick fabric of his hoodie, offering a small taste of what he could expect in the bath. Angela hasn’t actually given anyone a massage in years, but now that she’s suggesting it, she has a feeling it’s probably been even longer since Jamie received one.

“That’s right,” she says, ending the preview by wrapping her arms around his chest and cuddling into him. It’s somewhat cruel to blackmail him like this, but Angela has every intention of following it up so she doesn’t feel too guilty for it. There’s no point in having him stay if she can’t spoil him.

“Might you enjoy something like that?” she asks, sweetly. Jamie is gaping, dumbfounded when she lifts away from him, like he’s just won the lottery and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You—you serious right now?” he asks, an edge of caution to it like he’s afraid that she’s only teasing him. Angela is, but she also isn’t.

“Absolutely.” Jamie is still looking at her like he’s trying to find a catch somewhere in her eyes, so she squeezes his shoulders to reassure him. “Would you like me to?”

“Wow. Uh. Yeah! Yeah, I’d—holy shit, I’d LOVE that!” he says, scratching his cheek. “Don’t think anyone’s ever offered to do that for me!”

“Then let me be the first.” Angela tempts him with what she hopes is a sufficiently coy smile. “Please?”

Well, that was much easier than she thought it would be. Angela feels decidedly accomplished as she leads Jamie by hand back upstairs. It isn’t until they’re in the bathroom that she realises he might prefer to get undressed on his own, as she doesn’t know his usual process for prosthetic removal prior to bathing. Unlike Jamie’s bathroom, Angela’s en-suite has a separate bath and shower, and the bath is a big cast iron tub that doesn’t have a ledge for him to sit on.

“Shall I get a chair for you?” she asks. His core is probably strong enough that he doesn’t need one, but Jamie is also exceptionally tired and might appreciate a little more support. He braces himself on the edge of the tub, anyway.

“Nah, no worries!” he says, already kicking off his boxers. He winces as he leans over to disengage his leg. “Done this plenty of times before.”

“You’re sure you don’t need a hand?” Angela asks, reaching for him but stopping short of touching him when his pegleg clatters on the floor. “Oh.”

“Got two of me own right here!” Jamie says, tapping his metal arm. “Need this one to get m’self in, then I can take it off.”

“Ah, right. And—you’re okay with me staying in here with you?” Angela asks, smiling shyly at him. Jamie arches an eyebrow at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be? S’not like ya haven’t seen me in the nick before.”

“I know, I just. Wanted to check.”

“Eeesh, babe,” he says, brushing his human fingers under her chin. “I’d be offended if ya _didn’t_ stay! Don’t worry so much, alright?”

Angela didn’t think he’d be particularly self-conscious about taking both of his prosthetics off, as he hasn’t been every other time he’s removed them or, indeed, gotten completely naked in front of her. It’s still nice to know that Jamie is comfortable enough to do so now, though. Bathing feels more private than simply undressing and getting into bed, a different and perhaps more vulnerable sort of intimacy that he seems happy to share with her.

“I’ll give your clothes a wash afterwards too,” Angela says, turning her attention to the taps. The ducky Jamie bought her for Christmas is sitting between them, so she drops it in before pouring a generous helping of bath salts under the running water along with some essential oils. From the corner of her eye she notices Jamie tugging his hoodie off. Angela looks around at him when doing so has him hissing, an oddly pained sound.

“Is something the ma—oh my god!”

“What?” he asks, naked as he throws his hoodie and t-shirt on the floor.

“You’ve—your stomach!” Angela says, covering her mouth with her hand.

Jamie blinks down at himself, at the severe black and blue bruising that’s covering most of his abdomen. He groans, immediately hiding his face in his hand.

“Shit,” he says into it, like he knows he’s been caught red-headed. “Goddamn it.”

Angela abandons the taps and rushes over to him.

“Jamie, this is—”

“Nothing!” he laughs. Jamie tries to hide his stomach with his metal arm but Angela pulls it away to get a better look.

She gasps. It’s a large contusion—blunt-force trauma if she were to hazard a guess—and looks several days old judging by the coloration of it.

“It’s nothing, baby, I swear!”

“This is NOT nothing!” Angela snaps, furious with him for hiding something like this from her. Nausea washes over her as she remembers how he covered it up yesterday. “You—you told me you were sunburned!”

“Might as well be! I can hardly feel it!”

“Why did you lie to me!”

“’Cause I didn’t wantcha bloody worrying!” Jamie says, looking at her pleadingly. “I’d totally forgotten about it until just now anyway!”

“Yes, and clearly so had I!”

Sunburn. _Sunburn._ How could she have fallen for that yesterday? It was obvious there was something wrong, but apparently Jamie did such an excellent job of distracting her she didn’t even consider that he might’ve hurt himself, or—whatever’s happened to cause such a nasty injury. Angela could kick herself for having been so caught up in the moment that she ignored all signs of him being in pain. How on earth was she so blind to this?

She instantly runs off all the symptoms of internal bleeding. With reluctance, Jamie admits he’s had ‘some’ shortness of breath and ‘a bit’ of chest pain, both of which she already noticed. He insists he hasn’t vomited or experienced any other symptoms pointing to a deeper injury, but Angela is shaking, too angry with herself to feel relieved.

“I can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me!” she says, almost whimpering. “How could you let me—god!”

She grinds her temples, thinking of all the sex they had, how she almost pulled his shirt up only for him to stop her. To think Jamie was hiding this the whole time they were fucking, probably in so much pain.

“I shouldn’t have been so—”

“Ohhhhh no, none of that, please!” Jamie says, suddenly grabbing both of her wrists. He’s scowling at her now. “I didn’t want you knowing because if y’did, I _knew_ you’d blow it up outta all proportion like this!”

“How do you expect me to react?” Angela snatches her hands away, scowling right back. “If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have—last night wouldn’t have happened!”

“Which is PRECISELY WHY I didn’t tell you!”

“This isn’t some joke, Jamie! You’ve—you could’ve hurt yourself even more,” she says, struggling to get the words out now that her throat is closing up. Jamie seems to notice that she’s on the verge of crying and panics, grabbing her hands back.

“Angie, baby, PLEASE _._ I was fucking _gagging_ for ya! Wasn’t gonna let anything get in the way of havin’ ya all to m’self again! Missed the _shit_ outta you, you—gorgeous thing!”

It was her own thirst for him that stopped her from questioning his symptoms, so hearing this offers no consolation.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I should’ve looked yesterday,” Angela says, looking down at her feet.

“Hey hey, c’mon now! Look at me,” Jamie says, tugging her hands. She does, her eyes prickling as his soften. “Listen, this is all on me, alright? No need to lose your head over my dumb fucking arse not bein’ honest! And it _really_ isn’t a big deal. Been through much worse than this, I can promise you that!”

“Can you honestly tell me that it doesn’t hurt?”

Jamie hesitates. In the second it takes him to draw breath, Angela whips away from him.

“Then you need painkillers,” she says, rushing to the medicine cabinet.

“Uh, no. No no no!”

When she comes back Jamie folds his arms, wincing as he does. Angela’s eyes narrow. Unfortunately his aversion to painkillers isn’t going to wash this time. She grabs his left arm and pulls just firmly enough to extract it, until she can press a couple of anti-inflammatory painkillers into his palm.

“Don’t need these,” he says, trying to thrust them back on her.

“Yes you do,” she says, not letting him. Jamie rolls his eyes.

“Okay, you are SERIOUSLY making a mountain out of a molehill here. It’s only a bit of bruising for Christ’s sake!”

“A bit of bruising? Jamie, that’s.” Angela scoffs, shaking her head. She doesn’t need to justify it. “Take them, please.”

“Doctor’s orders, is it?” he says, irritably.

“Call it that if you must, but I’m not accepting no for an answer.”

“Oh, great! So what, I’m your patient now, am I?”

This could very easily turn into an argument. Angela sucks in a breath.

“You aren’t my patient, and I’m not doing this as your doctor,” she says, calmly as she can in the hopes that he’ll listen. “I’m doing it as your girlfriend.”

“Don’t need to be babied over a fucking bruise,” Jamie snaps, frowning as he glances away from her.

“I didn’t become a doctor to baby you or anyone else. I became a doctor because I like taking care of people.”

Angela reaches out to cup his face, tilt it towards her so he can’t avoid her. Perhaps a healthy dose of guilt might make this more palatable for him.

“Even if I _wasn’t_ a doctor, I’d be doing exactly the same thing right now. All I want to do is take care of you, so why won’t you let me?”

Jamie’s eyebrows loosen like the guilt is working. Good. Anything if he’ll take some goddamn painkillers for once.

“It really, _really_ doesn’t hurt that much,” he says, though he’s mumbling, probably knows this isn’t a fight he’s going to win.

“That may be so,” Angela says, closing his fingers around the tablets, “but it hurts _me_ to think of you in any sort of pain.”

Jamie opens his mouth to say something, then stops. It seems like this has stunned him. Angela holds his gaze, wanting him to know that she means it.

“So, please. Take them for me, won’t you?” she says, softly, just to finish him off. She can see the _fuck’s sake_ he wants to say back reflected in his eyes.

“Fine,” Jamie says instead, huffing it out like it’s a huge effort. “But ONLY this one time, got it?”

Angela darts out of the bathroom to grab a glass of water for him. Jamie glugs it, wrinkling his nose as though swallowing a couple of tablets is the most disgusting experience of his life. Feeling somewhat better knowing he’s taken something, Angela finishes running the bath. There’s nothing else she can do aside from wait for the tablets to kick in and hope that the heat of the water will soothe the pain.

They wait in silence until she asks him to test the temperature. Jamie holds both sides of the tub and grimaces as he swings his legs in. Angela goes to help him but he curtly shakes his head, telling her he’ll do it himself. Biting her tongue, she stands uselessly beside him, watching him hiss from tensing his core muscles to lower in until he’s submerged waist-deep. The tub isn’t big enough for Jamie to stretch his long leg out, but he doesn’t have to bend it too much, so he looks fairly comfortable sitting in it. She can see goosebumps on his skin where he’s gone from cool air to hot water.

“Are you sure it isn’t too hot?”

“Temperature’s fine babe,” he says, settled enough to disengage his remaining prosthesis. “Feels nice.”

Angela half expects him to just drop his arm when he leans over the edge of the tub, but Jamie carefully lowers it to the floor instead. The skin on the stump of his right arm is melded into a jagged scar where it cuts off just after his elbow. There’s similarly scarred tissue on the stump of his right thigh, though it hasn’t been so long since Angela saw that. Unconventional as Jamie’s prosthetics may be, it’s a little jarring to see him without them when he seems more comfortable with them on.

“Do they hurt?” Angela asks, when he splashes some water onto his right arm. Jamie has never complained about any phantom pains from his amputations, but she knows he probably gets them.

“Sometimes, I s’pose. Sorta used to tuning it out now.”

“Ah.”

He hunches forward and tucks his arms in, like he’s uncomfortable with her staying in here after all.

“Would—would you like me to leave?”

“’Course not,” Jamie says, softly, closing his eyes. He sounds like he’s lost all his energy. Perhaps he’s just trying to hide the contusion from her, even though she’s already seen it. Actually, now that she’s addressed the injury itself, Angela would really like to know how he got it in the first place.

A droplet of water falls from the tap and into the tub.

“Jamie,” she says, picking at her nails. “Look, I… you don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but—”

“I got into a fight,” he says, without looking at her. “Wasn’t my fault. Well, I dunno, maybe it was. But I didn’t start it.”

This isn’t particularly shocking given the nature of the bruising. What’s more shocking is how easily Jamie has volunteered this information. She barely needed to prompt him.

“What happened?” Angela asks, in two minds as to whether or not she even wants to know.

“Just—these two blokes at the New Year’s party,” he says, waving his hand. Jamie still isn’t looking at her, focused on the ducky sitting at the other end of the tub. “Kept bothering us and got shirty when we told ‘em to fuck off. Smashed, obviously.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, I was with my mates. Thought I toldja.”

Jamie didn’t go into any level of detail about what he was doing back home and only vaguely mentioned seeing friends. Angela doesn’t even know their names.

“I had no idea you were with friends at the party,” she says. “You just told me you were on the beach.”

“Okay, well, it doesn’t matter, but yeah, I was with ‘em.”

“It does matter,” Angela says, frowning. She’s scared of prying into his personal life because she’s unsure just how much he’s willing to share with her yet, but she won’t know unless she tries. “You haven’t told me anything about your friends even though you apparently spent a lot of time with them while you were over there.”

Jamie shrugs.

“Isn’t much to tell. They’re just—mates. Old friends back when I was still at school and the outback wasn’t a nuclear fucking shitshow.” He cups a handful of water and splashes it on his face, looking down at the white enamel between his legs once he wipes it off. “After I was kicked outta Junkertown I stayed with ‘em in Darwin, then I moved here.”

This is more information about himself than Jamie has provided in all the time they’ve known each other. Angela takes a breath to say something, wanting to ask more, but he starts talking again before she can.

“Anyway, like I said. All it was, was just—two drunk fuckwits giving us grief. Probably just looking for a fight. I mean, everyone was pissed, but these guys were fucking _hammered_.”

“I don’t—don’t understand how being drunk would give anyone a reason to fight you. Were they provoked?”

“Huh? I told you I didn’t start it,” Jamie says, frowning up at her like he’s offended by this. “It was a party on the beach, for fuck’s sake! They were getting lairy with everyone but I had enough once they started on Gav’s missus, so I got up and shoved ‘em!”

“Oh, Jamie.”

“What was I s’posed to do?! Wasn’t my fault they couldn’t take a hint! They probably—I dunno.” Jamie looks away again, to the wall. “Forget it.”

“What?”

Angela perches on the edge of the tub, waiting for him to elaborate. A couple more droplets from the tap hit the water, the only sound now that they’re both still. After a moment of scratching his head, Jamie sighs.

“They probably thought I was easy pickings,” he says, gesturing at his arm and leg. “’Cause, y’know. Yeah.”

A cold weight drops in Angela’s stomach. She doesn’t want to think about Jamie’s arm and leg turning him into a target like that, the scenario she’s feared ever since they discussed upgrading his prosthetics.

“So, one of ‘em grabbed me from behind and the other got in a few half-decent kicks.” Jamie leans over to grab the ducky, wincing as he does. “Took me by surprise, to be honest, ‘cause I sorta thought, why the _fuck_ would anyone start on me? Usually people get one look and run a mile.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What?” Jamie says, spitting out a laugh. “S’true.”

Angela flinches, bringing her hand up to her chest. Hearing this hurts almost as much as seeing him injured, because even though she doesn’t want to admit it, she knows, Angela _knows_ he’s intimidating. Remembers being intimidated herself that first day at headquarters, back when he was still Junkrat and they didn’t know each other. But it’s awful to think of anyone looking at the Jamie she knows now and wanting to run away from him. Being—repulsed by him, even, a word she hates to think of as it’s so far away from anything she’d ever associate with him.

Jamie’s tired eyes pass over the ducky. Tentatively, Angela holds his shoulder, the one with the skull tattoo. She squeezes when he doesn’t shrug her off, because she needs to touch him, let him know that she, at least, would never run.

“They fucked with the wrong cunt taking me on,” Jamie says. There’s something sinister about the way he says it that twists Angela’s stomach. “Gave ‘em fucking hell for it once the guys got ‘em off me.”

“You didn’t… you didn’t kill them, did you?” she asks, quietly, wishing she didn’t have to. Jamie immediately shakes his head, what she hopes is a naturally truthful reaction.

“Not worth it, they were only a couple of pissheads. One too many and suddenly you’re starting a fight. Happens to the best of us.”

“I don’t think I can relate,” Angela says, managing a smile when this makes Jamie laugh. “But—you were okay? Really?”

“Angie, you can see I was,” he says, meeting her eyes. “I mean, uh, ‘side from the _teeeeeny_ bit of bruising that’s left. I guarantee you they’ll be in worse shape than me right now. My guts were fucking _hurting_ , so I felt it was only fair to give ‘em a taste back.”

Angela is privately somewhat glad that he did, though she can’t exactly say so lest she condone him getting into more fights. It frightens her to think what might’ve happened if Jamie hadn’t been able to defend himself and fight back.

“I’m relieved your friends were there to help you,” she says, rubbing his shoulder. “But you really should’ve gotten yourself checked out.”

“Lisa’s a nurse funnily enough, so she gave me a onceover there, said I was alright.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Is she, um. One of your friends?”

“Yeah, Gav’s wife,” Jamie says, to her relief. “He’s a bloody wuss, so I sorta had to step in. Those guys aren’t really, er… equipped to deal with shit like that. Wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Junkertown.”

Jamie’s shoulders have relaxed somewhat, like he feels better for telling her all of this. It’s nice to know the names of some of his friends, but there are still a few things Angela wants to ask him, especially as he’s been remarkably receptive to her questions thus far.

“Did you go home specifically to see them?”

“Went home because it’s my home!” He flicks the ducky away and reaches for a bar of soap. “I wanted to see those guys, but more than that I wanted to get some half decent sunshine!”

“Didn’t you want Roadhog to come with you?” Angela gets up to grab a clean flannel from the rack for him. “It surprised me when you said you were going over there on your own.”

Jamie cringes at her.

“Fine going places m’self y’know. Don’t need him with me all the time.”

“I’m not saying you do, just—he’s your bodyguard, isn’t he?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure, I s’pose he still is,” Jamie says, taking the flannel. “But his mum’s getting on now, didn’t wanna drag him away when he doesn’t get to see her much.”

Suddenly, Jamie has presented her with the perfect opportunity to ask what’s actually been on her mind without it being obtrusive. Angela chews her lip. It’s there on the tip of her tongue, the question she’s been meaning to ask him for so long. But she shouldn’t be afraid of asking him, not now that they’re dating. It’s important to know.

“Weren’t you seeing your family, too?” she asks him, finally.

Jamie laughs.

“What family?” he says, soaping up the flannel.

“You—but I’m sure you’ve mentioned your mother before.” Angela perches on the tub again, watching him scrub his neck. “The last time you were here, in fact.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You said you used to fix the air-conditioning units at home, for her.”

“Oh. Christ, yeah, they used to break on us all the time,” he says, smiling down at the water. “Bloody nightmare in the summer.”

“By us, do you mean—do you have any siblings?”

“Nah, it was just me and mum.”

“And—your father?”

“Nope. He left when I was little,” Jamie says, flatly. “Don’t remember much about him, but he made mum cry a lot when he was around, so it was for the best.”

He rubs the flannel over his chest before dunking it and rubbing more soap onto it.

“Last we heard he was shacked up with some slag in Perth. Can’t say I know anything else, and I sure as fuck don’t miss him. Got by without him when it was just me and mum, and I got by without him after mum died as well. Don’t need him.”

Angela would like to think she was prepared for this, based on his evasiveness and the fact that he never mentions her. Nevertheless, it still breaks her heart knowing that her initial suspicions were correct. That Jamie doesn’t appear to have any immediate family left, either.

“I’m sorry,” she says, softly. Given her own circumstances Angela should probably have something more eloquent to offer than an apology, but looking at him now, nothing else comes.

“S’alright. Happened years back.”

Jamie’s smile up at her seems sympathetic, like he’s sorry about having to break the news to her. Based on the amount of times she’s been in the same position, Angela knows how horrible it is to be on the receiving end of that half-shocked-half-pitying look after telling someone both of your parents are dead. She looks down at her lap.

“I had a feeling that might be the case,” she says. “It was strange that you never wanted to talk about your family.”

“Hardly a great subject to talk about, is it? Only makes people feel bad.  Most don’t know what to say when y’tell ‘em.”

Isn’t that the truth, Angela thinks. She decides against saying it though, not wanting to steer the conversation away from him when he’s opening up to her. Jamie scratches his cheek, a sad smile on his face that’s aimed at the water between his legs.

“Not used to anyone caring about anything I’ve got to say anyway,” he says, half laughing it.

“I care,” Angela says, touching his shoulder again. It’s slick with soap. Jamie drops the flannel to rest his hand on hers. His smile at her is brighter this time, sharper.

“I know y’do. S’why I’m tellin’ ya.”

Angela smiles back, surprised by this declaration of trust from him.

“I’m glad you are. There was no family history in your file, back when I was inducting you. I wanted to ask but at the same time I didn’t want to pry.”

“Curious about me, were ya?” Jamie says, grinning. Angela laughs.

“I was. Though—mostly from a medical perspective, if I’m honest. You told me you had no familial conditions I needed to be aware of, so I didn’t have grounds to ask beyond that.”

“Still rings true. Mum was pretty sick most of the time when I was growing up, but that was stress related, I think.”

Jamie is back to staring at the water, soap left on his front where he hasn’t washed it off. He looks tired, like this subject is draining for him. Angela doesn’t let go of his shoulder, but Jamie lets go of her hand.

“Was more of a blessin’ for her in the end. When she passed, I mean. Years of fighting for our home took it outta her.”

Angela tenses. She wasn’t expecting him to say something like that.

“Then we lost it anyway, so all that fighting was for nought. Omnics came, everything went to shit, and mum never recovered.”

Swallowing a knot of guilt down from her throat into her chest, a second passes where she can’t speak, doesn’t know what to say. While she felt ready to discuss Jamie’s family, or lack thereof, somehow she didn’t account for this—for the cold, hard reality of his life in the outback. For Jamie’s opposing viewpoint on omnics to be brought so abruptly into conversation, and with it a harsh reminder of the argument resulting in that terrible week where they didn’t speak.

It feels so long ago that she was sitting across from Torbjörn and finally made aware of her ignorance on the matter. The last thing Angela wants now is to incite another argument because of her own lack of understanding. She's also terrified of saying anything that might upset him when this is such a delicate subject. But they won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t try, and the subject will remain an elephant in the room standing between them. Even if she doesn’t agree with Jamie, she wants to be able to accept his feelings on the matter, just like Ingrid accepts Torbjörn.

Jamie exhales, dragging the flannel over his shoulders to try and wash his back.

“Hey, would—would you like me to?” Angela asks, feeling like she needs to say—something, anything, to let him know she doesn’t want to argue about this.

“Oh, uh. Sure, if y’want.”

Jamie’s eyes close when she rubs the flannel over his back, slow and gentle to brush soap across it. How can she broach this sensitively? It’ll be painful no matter when they address it, so it may as well be today, here and now while he’s telling her all of this. It feels like the right time. Frowning, Angela thinks, thinks, trying to pick the right words.

“I just—can’t imagine how dreadful it must have been for you both. For all the people out there,” she says, quietly, when she can’t find anything better without it sounding clinical. “I was studying in Switzerland at the time. Everyone heard about the crisis in Australia, but… without being there, it was impossible to know what was actually happening. The news reports were all very vague.”

“Ch’yeah, doesn’t surprise me,” Jamie says, bitterly. Angela goes still, unsure if his bitterness is aimed at her. She can’t really blame him if it is. “Got a pretty good idea what you were bein’ fed. Poor omnics needing homes, and racist nationals too selfish to give up their land, yeah? S’that what you were all told?”

Angela thinks back on it, on the rhetoric of the media during the crisis. It was so many years ago that it’s difficult to remember, but she does, sort of.

“That’s… I’d say that’s what we were hearing, yes.”

She almost doesn’t want to add anything onto this when the truth sounds terrible in retrospect. But she thinks he needs to hear it, some explanation as to why her views on omnics differ so greatly from his.

Angela’s voice is soft when she adds, “The focus always seemed to be on omnic suffering more than anything else.”

She braces herself for Jamie’s reaction, but he just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fucking knew it,” he says, muttering it. Then he raises his voice. “Forced out of our homes by our own fucking government, and _we_ were the bad guys? Jesus! S’not like we had a lot to begin with, and they _still_ insisted on taking it from us!”

“I’m so sorry,” Angela says, feeling wretched in the face of his understandable anger. She stops rubbing his back. “I really had no idea how bad it was. I still don’t.”

“S’alright,” Jamie says, glumly. The anger that was threatening to boil seems to have simmered, and his eyes are hooded, like talking about it even this much has exhausted him. “Wouldn’t expect ya to know about it, not really. Nobody cares about Australia, not even Australia, so.”

“No, I mean. I’m sorry for acting the way I did. Last year, when—Zenyatta was, and we were.”

Shit. Angela purses her lips. Jamie says nothing, prickling up as he waits for her to continue. This really wasn’t the conversation she was planning on having with him today, or ever, actually, after they managed to completely avoid it by bumping into each other in the elevator that day. But Angela’s own feelings on the matter seem trivial in light of what he’s said and what he’s experienced. It has to be addressed.

“When we weren’t talking, after our argument,” she says, feeling Jamie’s eyes on her. She focuses on washing the soap off his back. “I was so confident that I understood you, that I—I don’t know, somehow had this perfect understanding of everything you’d been through, just because I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

It’s scary, but she does meet his eyes, then, knowing that she needs to even though she’s still so afraid of how he’s going to respond.

“I’m sorry Jamie,” she says, dropping the flannel to squeeze his shoulder again. “I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you didn’t have a voice. For reacting the way I did.”

For a moment he just looks at her, eyes wide were they were hooded. Some of the guilt tangled in Angela’s chest unfolds when Jamie smiles, even if it is another sad line on his face.

“It’s alright. I get why ya did. And—I said some shit I know I shouldn’ve.”

He reaches out to her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Angela tilts into it.

“No need to keep apologising for it,” he says, softly. “S’all water under the bridge now.”

Jamie cranes his neck. Angela bends to kiss him, a slow press of her lips on his. She’s relieved they’ve managed to talk about it without blowing it up into another argument, but she wishes she wasn’t sitting on the edge like this, feeling so separated from him. She needs to meet him halfway, somehow, prove that she’s genuinely trying to fully accept and understand him.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asks. Jamie blinks at her.

“Y’mean—get in with me?”

He looks hopeful. Angela smiles.

“It’ll make it easier for me to rub your back, if you’d still like me to. Plus, I still owe you a massage. And I can wash your hair.”

“Well fuck,” he laughs, “can’t say no to that, can I! Go on then, get that sweet arse in here!”

This appears to have brightened him up. Jamie whistles when Angela sheds her clothing, leaning over the edge to watch her.

“Nice tits,” he says, leering as she folds everything into a neat pile.

“Yours aren’t bad either.”

“Oh, these ain’t a _patch_ on those lovely Swiss jugs,” Jamie says, having a quick look at his own pecs. “Thanks though!”

Angela just sighs, easing slowly into the bath behind him to prevent the water from splashing too much.

“You alright back there?” he asks, grinning at her from over his shoulder.

“Just about,” she says, trying to get somewhat comfortable. His waist and hips are slim despite his broad shoulders, so it isn’t too tight a squeeze when she slides her legs either side of him. His skin is smooth on hers, hot from the water, but it’s a little awkward manoeuvring in such a limited space. Jamie wiggles forward to give her more room.

“Better?”

“Much, thank you.”

Angela settles in. There are small, white acne scars scattered amongst the freckles on Jamie’s shoulders, and some of the other scars on his back are deep enough to have caused slight indentations. There are moles, too, some raised and some not where they’re dotted over his tanned skin. Angela didn’t take this much notice when she was conducting Jamie’s medical, and she was too shy to get close when he was fixing the aircon, so it feels new to her despite seeing him shirtless so often. Looking over the canvas of his back, her fingers tracing the brushstrokes of his life, Angela wonders how there can be so much she still doesn’t know about Jamie, even though he’s laid so much of himself bare.

“Hey, babe?”

“Hmm?”

“I was only lookin’ out for ya, back then.”

Angela pauses. She was done washing his back anyway, so she crosses her arms around his chest and moves closer, until her breasts are flush to his back. As much as she wants to properly hug him, she can’t risk touching his stomach.

“I know you were,” she says, flattening her cheek on the nape of his neck.

“Couldn’t stand it, watching you beat y’self up over everything like that,” Jamie says. “Fucked me right off that I couldn’t just—I dunno. Get you away from it all.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to, though.”

“Felt like it was.” Jamie lays his hand on top of hers. “Wish it had been.”

Angela’s breath catches.  She isn’t sure anyone has ever said anything like that to her before.

“I—appreciate that, truly, but I am capable of taking care of myself. My self-care shouldn’t be your burden.”

Jamie sputters.

“Right, you listen to me,” he says, scowling around at her. He looks so serious Angela withdraws slightly. “There is nothing—I repeat, _nothing_ about you that could _ever_ be a fucking burden to me. Understand?”

Words seem to have escaped her. Angela gapes, nodding. Jamie stops scowling at her, facing away. He scratches his hair like the very suggestion of her being a burden has agitated him.

“Good,” he says. “S’no fucking reason to struggle on your own when you’ve got people lookin’ out for ya.”

Jamie’s assertion on this is humbling, but it occurs to her that he has no way of understanding just how used to being alone she really is. As he’s been generous enough to confide in her, perhaps it might be safe to tell him about her own family history, too. She’ll have to sooner or later, and it’s only fair when he’s given her so much. Angela laces their fingers together.

“My parents died when I was quite young, so learning to cope on my own hasn’t really been a choice.”

“Holy shit,” Jamie says, turning to face her again. His eyebrows are drawn together. “You’re joking!”

“I’m not, sadly.”

“Jesus, Angie! I didn’t know that! Why didn’tcha tell me before?”

“It happened such a long time ago that it feels… I don’t know.” Angela cushions her cheek on his shoulder. “I’ve lived longer without them than I have with them, so it’s—normal, for me, I guess.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I should’ve mentioned it before.”

Jamie’s shock makes her feel awful for not telling him sooner, but it’s been a while since she had to tell anyone at all. Everyone else on the team already knows.

“How old were ya?”

“Eleven. They were first responders and died together on the field.”

“Fuck, that’s awful!”

“It was,” Angela says, tightening her grip on his hand. “My grandparents raised me for a couple of years after that, and then the housekeepers took over after they died.”

“Housekeepers? Wow,” Jamie says, breathing out a laugh.

“It sounds fancier than it was,” Angela says, not really wanting to elaborate on her privileged upbringing. “I left home at seventeen anyway because I was accepted into university a year early. Regardless, I don’t think our experiences really compare. I was never forced out of my home.”

“Isn’t a competition,” Jamie says, gently. “Nobody should hafta go through losin’ both, not like that. Not when you’re a kid.”

Angela lifts her cheek off to press a kiss into his skin, a better way of conveying her gratitude for his understanding than simply agreeing. She’s never felt closer to him than she does right now.

“What a bloody pair we are.” Jamie shakes his head. “Never thought we’d fucking. Bond over dead parents, Christ.”

“There are far nicer things to have in common, I’ll admit.”

They sit quietly for a second. Jamie sighs.

“Still,” he says, “there _is_ a silver lining to it.”

“There—what?”

Angela pulls away from him, wondering where on earth he could be going with a comment like this.

“Yeah.” He grins around at her. “Least now I don’t have to worry about asking for your old man’s permission!”

Angela gasps out a laugh.

“My _god_ , Jamie!” she says, scolding him.

“What?! Can’t a guy celebrate the little things?! Awww, c’mon, don’t look at me like that! Y’know I didn’t _really_ mean it!”

Angela just laughs again, relieved that he’s managed to lighten what has been quite an oppressive mood with such a typically Junkrat sort of joke.

“You are terrible. Anyway, if you pass me that cup, I can make a start on washing this messy hair of yours.”

Jamie’s shoulders snap up.

“That, uh. S’not punishment, is it?”

“Of course not,” Angela says, patting his chest. “I’ll be gentle.”

Once his hair is rinsed she lathers it up with shampoo. Angela should’ve brought a comb in for this, but as his hair is all slick and soapy she’s able to tease through the knots with her fingers. Satisfied that it’s clean, she begins massaging his scalp, trying to mimic the hairdressers who do the same thing for her.

“Nnngh,” Jamie says, a throaty purr of a sound that has her smiling.

“Good?”

“Fucking good,” he murmurs. His shoulders are slack where they’d gone rigid. “Think you better do this more often.”

“Then I will.”

After everything they’ve discussed Angela is happy for the reprieve of washing his hair, though it’s nice sharing more of herself with him when she’s so used to keeping personal information locked away. Nice being able to clear the air, too, though she knows better than to assume it’ll be the last time the subject of omnics comes up between them.

Still, there’s no reason to worry about it now. Angela tilts his head back to prevent the soapy water from stinging his eyes when she rinses out the shampoo. After doing the same with conditioner they simply sit there together, quiet and relaxed. Jamie squeezes her hand when she wraps her arms around his chest again.

“You still think about ‘em?”

“Who? My parents?”

“Yeah.”

Nobody has asked her this in a very long time. Angela rubs her cheek on his shoulder, considering her answer.

“Sometimes,” she says. “Less often now than I used to. My grandparents said they would always be a part of me, so I tried to carry on knowing they were always there. I’d like to think they’d be happy with what I’ve done with my life, if they are.”

“Pfft. Think they’d be bloody proud of ya, despite, er, certain decisions you’ve made with regard to blokes. Namely the unworthy bastard you’re dating as of this very second.”

“Ah, yes, that’s true.” Angela kisses the nape of Jamie’s neck, lips ghosting over it when she adds, “I’m sure they would have been very disappointed it took me so long to find you.”

“Angie,” he says, like he’s embarrassed. She can hear that he’s grinning, though.

“What about you? Do you think about your mother?”

Jamie hums, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Used to everyday, but not so much anymore. S’pose I’ve thought about her more recently. Can’t see her bein’ proud of a lotta shit I’ve done over the years, but I reckon she would be now.”

He pulls Angela’s hand off his chest to kiss the flat of it.

“She’da loved you n’all.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Not a shadow of a doubt about that.”

Angela isn’t sure what her parents would think about Jamie, nor how they’d react to her dating someone who wasn’t a doctor, or a lawyer, or any other wealthy, respectable professional. They probably would’ve approved considering Jamie saved her life, though, something far more important than any impressive career or salary.

Jamie kisses over her knuckles. It’s one of the most romantic things he’s done and has Angela squirming against him, going all fuzzy from it.

“Even my mates were askin’ about ya, after I told ‘em I got m’self a woman.”

“A ‘woman’,” she says, dryly. That’s somewhat less romantic.

“Yeah, and the cheeky cunts thought I was taking the piss until I showed ‘em pics!”

“You—oh, no, you didn’t!” Angela says, cringing. The only photos she’s sent him have been poor attempts at taking selfies.

“’Course I did!” Jamie says, proudly. “Most beautiful woman on the planet and she’s all mine?! Had to show you off, didn’t I!”

“God,” she says, hiding how pleased she is by burying her face into him. Jamie turns to look at her.

“Y’know what? You should come with me someday. Straya would be a much better place with you in it!”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Angela says, flattered that he’s even thinking of something like that—that he’d want her to visit his beloved Australia. His eyebrows lift up.

“Y’would?”

“Absolutely! Where would we go? Sydney?”

“Fuck Sydney!” he scoffs. “It’s, er, kiiinda off limits to me anyway. Nah, we’ll stay in Darwin. Bet you’d love Mindil, sunsets there are fucking ace. Best in the world!”

“That sounds wonderful,” Angela says, enamoured with the idea of watching a sunset with him. Goodness, Jamie is really going above and beyond all her expecta—

“We need to get you in a bikini,” he adds, thoughtfully. “One’a them stringy ones. Pull it to the side and I could give you a good hard fucking in it while you’re sunbathing, too!”

Angela sighs.

“I’m afraid I don’t tan like you do,” she says. “I tend to burn unless I’m adequately covered in suncream, so a swimsuit would probably be better for me.”

“Hmm,” Jamie says, drumming his chin. “So what you’re _saying_ is, you’d first need a thorough coating of cream before getting your cozzie on?”

“That’s right. You’d have to rub it all over me, too.”

“Fuck.” Angela can practically hear Jamie imagining this. “Alright, well, uh. Guess that settles it! First we’ll get ya rubbed and ready, _then_ I’ll give you a proper dicking down in y’cozzie instead!”

“Excuse me—‘dicking down’?”

“Yeah, y’know! A nice, healthy dose of being fucked into the ground!”

“Oh, honestly!” Angela laughs, hugging his chest. She decides against telling him how much she’d enjoy that based on the worryingly pleasant rush it sends through her.

“But we’ll go someday, yeah?” Jamie asks, hopefully. Angela leans over to kiss his cheek.

“Yes, we will.”

The water is beginning to cool, so Jamie finishes soaping himself up. Angela strokes her hands over his back, feeling out all of his taut, toned muscle, before rolling her thumbs firmly into the knots there to finally give him his promised massage. Almost as soon as she does, Jamie starts groaning.

“Too rough?”

“Nah, it’s— _nnnngh_ —you can go harder,” he says, almost grunting.

“Wow, I never thought I’d hear _you_ say that.”

Jamie laughs at this, though it spirals into another groan when Angela obliges him, grinding her thumbs in slow, concentrated circles between his shoulder blades.

“Shit, that feels fucking _heavenly_ ,” he says, sounding a bit throaty. Jamie’s muscles are so stiff and she’s so out of practice that Angela’s thumbs tire quickly, but the pleasure Jamie is getting from it is more than enough to keep her going. There’s something intensely therapeutic about doing this for him, having strong muscle pliant under her palms. Satisfied that his back is loosened, Angela moves to his shoulders. He slouches forwards like he’s fully submitting to being massaged.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Jamie huffs.

“When you’re better,” she says, purring it, but he’s so absorbed in the massage he doesn’t even take the bait. Jamie just keeps groaning for her, and Angela soaks it up, revelling in how good it feels to indulge him like this.

“How are you feeling now?” she says, when her hands are too tired to continue.

“Nnnguuh,” he says, eloquently.  Angela chuckles.

“Does that mean you liked it?”

“Holy _fuck_ yes.” Jamie’s head rolls back. “Hooo-ey. F’I wasn’t seven different kindsa rooted my dick would be a diamond right now, that was so good.”

“Then I’ll have to do it more often for you. How’s your stomach?”

“Haven’t even thought about it, babe, m’just _knackered_. Much as I love having these gorgeous legs around me,” he says, patting her calf, “I wanna go back to bed.”

Ah, yes. In addition to his jetlag, Jamie is probably feeling the sedative effects of the painkiller, which will be more potent considering how infrequently he seems to take them.

Stepping out first, Angela grabs a fluffy towel off the heated rack for him. Jamie sits on the edge of the tub and allows her to check his bruising before moving sluggishly to reengage his prosthetics, his energy having drained with the water in the tub. She rubs the towel over his shoulders and ruffles his wet hair to help him dry off, feeling like she’s pampering a golden retriever with the way he’s grinning at her, all cute and sleepy. Angela can’t help kissing him once he’s dried off somewhat, and then they’re back in her bedroom. Jamie crashes onto her bed and moans as his face hits the pillow.

“Do you have any clean clothes in your suitcase I could get out for you?”

“That, er, depends on your definition of _clean_ ,” he says, rolling onto his side. He looks half asleep already, eyes lidded and heavy.

“Okay, um.” Angela glances around. She doesn’t have any spare menswear but he’ll get cold if he keeps the damp towel on.

“Can’t I just put my hoodie back on?”

“I was going to wash it for you, actually. You can if you want to, or you could try this on.”

Angela plucks her pale blue bathrobe from the back of the door. Jamie pulls the towel off and tugs it on. The sleeves are only three quarter length on him, and the shoulders are so narrow that he has to leave it open when he ties it, leaving most of his chest bare. Still, it’s better than staying in the towel. Angela is floored at how Jamie manages to look simultaneously adorable and sexy in it thanks to his exposed skin and tousled hair.

“How do I look?” he asks, throwing his arms out in a flourish and giving her this dazzling smile even though his eyes are half closed.

“As handsome as always,” Angela sighs, smiling back.

“Feel like a fuckin’ teddy bear in this, s’all fuzzy.” Jamie beckons for her to get on the bed with him. “Wanna cuddle?”

“Just give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be right with you.”

Angela pulls her shirt and jeans back on. Lounging with his head resting in his metal palm, Jamie watches her pick his shorts up off the floor. No less than six condom packets fall out of its pockets.

“Ambitious,” she says, grinning at him. Jamie winks and fingerguns her.

“I believe the word you are looking for is _realistic_ , but I would also accept underprepared, or modest!”

“Modest? Really?”

“Okay, yeah, y’gotta point.” He lifts the bathrobe to flash her. “This dick is WAY too big to be called modest!”

Angela laughs into her hand. Somehow it’s a relief that Jamie is still unmistakably himself despite being so fatigued. She climbs on the bed and into his open arms, giggling as he wraps her up in the bathrobe.

“Ohhh, I gotcha now!” he growls, rolling them over. Angela shrieks, half afraid of him hurting himself and half afraid of being tickled, but as soon as he pins her Jamie’s sudden burst of energy dies anyway. He collapses on top of her, face nestled in the crook of her neck.

“Bad, _bad_ idea,” he huffs into it.

“Oh god, your stomach!” Angela says, panting it out where the slumped weight of Jamie’s body is crushing her.

“No no, isn’t that, I’m just.” He shifts until he’s curled into her side instead, only half on top of her now. “Hoo boy, I am fuckin’ _bushed_ ,” he says, cheek flattened on her shoulder. “That massage really took it outta me!”

“Poor thing,” Angela says, kissing his forehead. He smells of mandarin oranges thanks to her shampoo and conditioner. “Resting is the best thing for your stomach, so just relax, okay? Would it help if you removed your prosthetics?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, s’pose it would.”

Jamie pushes up to disengage his arm and leg again. Apparently he’s so tired that he doesn’t bother carefully lowering his arm to the floor, just drops it before reattaching himself to Angela’s side.

“I’m surprised you kept them on so much when I was at your house,” she says. “Doesn’t the weight of them become uncomfortable?”

“Only when I keep ‘em on too long. Most of the time I just can’t be arsed taking ‘em off,” he says, shrugging. “Don’t feel right without ‘em.”

Jamie slings his left arm and leg across her body like a cat stretching out in the sun. Angela wraps her arms around him in kind, loving the warm weight of being cuddled. It’s quite different cuddling him while he’s wearing her bathrobe, the soft bulk of it making him feel even bigger despite his missing limbs.

“Would you like to sleep?”

“Naaah, m’alright,” Jamie says, yawning straight afterwards. His cheek is on her shoulder again. “Wanna just unwind with ya. Wish I had my laptop, then we coulda watched somethin’.”

Angela reaches for the tablet on her bedside stand. She doesn’t use it very often, but she turns it on to the last thing she was watching and holds it on her lap, keeping her other arm curved around Jamie’s shoulders to hold him close. He peers down at the screen.

“Whassis?”

“A Korean variety show.”

“Wha’? Since when d’you like this sorta thing?!”

“Since Hana showed me last year. It’s just so over the top and ridiculous, I love it.”

Jamie squints up at her. Angela smiles down at him.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he says, turning his attention back to the tablet. Jamie rubs his cheek against her like he’s getting fully comfortable, and Angela gently pets his damp hair, blissfully happy to be snuggled up with him in their post-bath haze.

It’s only mid-afternoon. About halfway through this episode Jamie stops watching it, nestling closer so that his cheek is cushioned on her breast instead, breathing slow and steady on her shirt like he’s already dozing off. Were it not for his injury she would’ve encouraged him to stay awake with her for the rest of the day, but sleep is the best medicine for Jamie’s bruising. It’s nice to indulge in a lazy afternoon with him, too. The last lazy Saturday she had was in his bed, curled up on him instead. Angela likes that they’ve switched positions this time—likes the novelty of looking down on him, having all six foot six of him cuddled into her for a change.

“Can’ believe I got Mercy lookin’ after me,” Jamie says, suddenly, slurring it into her breast.

Oh. She thought he was asleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he squeezes her like he can feel her looking at him. Angela squeezes back, smiling.

“And I can’t believe I have Junkrat curled up on me,” she says, kissing his head. “Though I’d say he’s more like a sweet little mouse right now.”

“Mmmfh,” Jamie says, grumbling. His eyebrows crease as though he might not like being called that, but the way he nuzzles into her leads her to believe otherwise.

Angela is so charmed by the fact that he’s comfortable enough to fall asleep on her that she doesn’t even mind the wet patch on her shirt where he’s drooling on it. Jamie sleeps long enough for her to watch a bunch of episodes she’s missed over the last few weeks. Eventually extracting herself to make dinner and put his clothing in the wash, Jamie is in an almost hungover state of jetlag and takes a second painkiller without any sort of fight when she returns upstairs. He stays awake to have a bite to eat in bed before passing out again.

Jamie sleeps and sleeps. Come evening the duvet is ruched around his naked body, her bathrobe in a rumpled heap on the floor. Grateful for his starfishing in what would have otherwise been an empty bed, Angela buttons up her long cotton nightshirt and sits beside him with her e-reader for a bit before turning the light off. As much as she wants to cuddle up to his right side, she isn’t sure how comfortable Jamie is with having his stumps touched, so she settles for lying close. Angela doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, though she can’t see him being bothered, in truth. Better to ask about that when he’s awake, anyway.

Even better than falling asleep next to him is waking up the following morning being spooned again. Despite half of her body being off the mattress, Angela knows better than to move out of Jamie’s hold this time. It’s more comfortable without the press of his metal arm against her back, left arm anchored around her waist to keep them together. The soupy warmth of this shared bedspace with him is so comfy and cosy Angela is actually about to doze off again when Jamie stirs against her, like he might be awake himself.

“Jamie?”

“Mmmh?”

His fingers fan out over her chest and he presses with the flat of his palm, drawing her back into him.

“How’s your stomach?” she asks, the first thing that springs to mind now that she’s lucid. Jamie kisses her cheek when she tries to look around at him.

“Not so bad,” he says, murmuring. He sounds like he might’ve been awake for a little while. “Think it’s gettin’ better.”

“That’s a relief. And—you slept well?”

“’Course I did.” Angela’s eyelashes flutter when he kisses her neck. “Had Mercy right next to me, didn’t I?”

“It’s strange hearing you call me that,” she says, smiling. Jamie lifts off to gaze down at her. It’s good to see that his face isn’t as gaunt as it was yesterday, and the dark circles around his eyes don’t seem as pronounced, like he might be recovering a little more from the jetlag after all.

“What makes ya say that?”

“Because I’ve gotten so used to all the other names you have for me.”

He’s fumbling one-handed over the buttons on her nightshirt. Angela isn’t sure if she wants to help him or stop him, but then he manages to unbutton one anyway, hand warm as it slips inside and brushes over her breasts.

“Oh yeah?” Jamie says, a lilt to it that has her stomach squirming. He’s teasing her nipples, trying to make them peak. “Wonder which one’s your favourite?”

“Jamie,” she breathes, reaching up to hold his wrist.

“Noooo, that’s _my_ name,” he says, snickering. “But I mean, if y’wanna keep saying it for me...”

Jamie drags his hand down the front of her shirt instead, over her stomach and then lower, lower.

“No.” Angela presses his hand into her abdomen to stop him from going any further. “We’re not doing anything until you’re better.”

She yelps when Jamie pulls her hip until she’s on her back. It’s alarming that he’s strong enough to do so without his metal arm, braced on his right elbow as he leans over her.

“Who says we’re not?” he says, smirking. Admittedly it’s rather thrilling being underneath him again, but when she looks down the length of his body the bruising on his stomach is still too severe for her to genuinely want any intimacy.

“I am,” she says, frowning. Jamie frowns right back at her. “Your bruise still looks terrible.”

“Oh, thanks very much, babe!”

“I’m only making an honest observation.”

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good.” Angela strokes his face in apology. “If you _are_ feeling better, you should probably get some breakfast. I can hear your stomach grumbling.”

“You seriously trying to get me outta bed already?” Jamie says, indignantly. “Haven’t even had a bloody kiss yet!”

Nor have you brushed your teeth for the last two days, Angela thinks. Instantly feeling bad for criticising him when he’s still recovering, even if only internally, she brushes her fingers back through his hair. It’s sticking up in every which way where he’s moved through the night, but Jamie’s hair has never felt softer and smoother. She coerces him onto his side to prevent him from straining his stomach.

“Then let me give you one,” Angela says, softly, bringing him in to meet her now that they’re sharing the same pillow.

One kiss turns into several, of course. There’s no sound of rainfall outside today, but it’s still wonderfully romantic laying in with him, cuddled in her bed and kissing slowly on a Sunday morning. Angela can forgive his breath when the rest of him smells so good, still fresh and clean from the bath. Jamie has definitely been awake for a while to be kissing her like he is—deliberately, hungrily, like he wants to eat her for breakfast. She has to push his hand away multiple times when he starts fishing at more of her buttons, though.

His grumbling stomach interrupts them. Angela needs caffeine anyway, so she makes the reluctant first move to get them out of bed. With his arm and leg engaged, Jamie tugs on his freshly-laundered clothing while she picks out a thick peach-coloured sweater and leggings.

“Phwoar,” Jamie says, stroking his hands along her sides once they’re standing. He bites his lip at her. “Y’got no right lookin’ so milfy this early in the day.”

“Milfy,” Angela repeats, not knowing what she’s supposed to do with a compliment like this.

…Wait. _Is_ it a compliment? He makes it sound like it is.

“That isn’t even—never mind,” she says, shaking her head. Jamie’s wearing this shit-eating grin like he knows full well he’s confused her. “Where’s your toothbrush?”

“My toothbrush?” The shit-eating grin falters. “Er. Sorta… accidentally… forgot it?”

Angela exhales through her nose. How can his teeth look so good when his dental hygiene is so poor?

“Okay, then you can use one of the spare heads for my electric toothbrush.”

After brushing his teeth, Jamie’s lethargy from travelling is still a dark cloud hanging over him as he slumps at the kitchen table, cheeks squished into both of his hands while his eyes follow Angela around the kitchen. If she’d known he was coming she would’ve bought croissants especially as a Sunday treat. Nonetheless, it feels so special to have breakfast with him that Angela decides to get her best cups and saucers out of the cupboard. She arranges them neatly on the table along with the coffee percolator, cereal, a rack of toast, and a tall jug of milk. Jamie’s eyes are wide as they flick over her impromptu breakfast spread.

“Bloody hell, this is a bit posh for me,” he says, smiling nervously. He points at the ornate cup and saucer in front of him. “Don’t trust m’self to not break something dainty like that.”

“Don’t be silly,” Angela says, pouring him a coffee. “I’m sure you won’t. I like having an excuse to finally use them, anyway.”

Her foot brushes his under the table, and Jamie’s smile widens into something more confident. After polishing off two heaped bowls of muesli and three slices of toast he leans back in his seat and burps.

“Y’know what? I reckon I could live off cereal. That shit was fucking tasty,” Jamie says, sounding considerably brighter for eating. He’s reading the cereal box. “Huh, didn’t realise it was Swiss!”

“We’re famous for it,” Angela says, beaming. “Well, that, and our chocolate.”

“S’that all?” Jamie says, incredulously. He gestures at her with his cup, which looks tiny in his left hand. “I can think of at _least_ three other things y’should be famous for, but rather than lower the tone while we’re sitting here having such a sophisticated brekkie, I’ll just keep your tits and pussy to m’self!”

“Thank you for that,” Angela says, trying not to smile.

“Don’t mention it! Reminds me though, s’my case still in the car?”

“That’s… an ominous segue. I got it out for you yesterday, actually. It’s in the sitting room.”

She takes him through and Jamie squats down to his suitcase. It’s yellow and scuffed and covered in a plethora of peeling stickers. While it isn’t particularly big, Angela struggled hauling it out of the car yesterday. Not that she would’ve opened it anyway, but there’s a combination lock on it that Jamie is currently fiddling with. She stands beside him with her arms tightly folded, apprehensive about what he might have hiding inside.

“Ta-daaaa!” Jamie says, flipping the lid. Dozens of purple wrappers spill out of it. For a split second Angela thinks they’re condoms, but they’re actually small chocolate bars. She kneels beside him and takes one.

“Chocolate koala bears?”

“Yup! A little taste of home! Woulda brought a shitton of vegemite back, but I can get it here no problem so I thought eh, no point in wasting space!” Jamie bunts her shoulder with his. “Go on, try one!”

“Is it just plain chocolate?”

“Nope, s’got caramel too. All soft and gooey in the middle, juuuust like yours truly!”

Angela laughs, unwrapping it. She’s reasonably sure she mentioned to Jamie sometime before now that she’s a snob when it comes to chocolate, because she figures if she’s going to indulge in something sweet, it needs to be something good. He probably doesn’t remember judging by the way he’s looking at her, eagerly anticipating her reaction.

Well, she doesn’t want to disappoint him. Angela takes a bite out of the koala’s head.

“It’s… good!” she says mid-chew, covering her mouth with her hand. Jamie’s face lights up.

“Y’think?!”

The chocolate isn’t anything to write home about, but the caramel in the middle is pleasant enough. There’s absolutely no way she wants to take that sweetly excited look off his face, however, so she smiles and nods.

“I do! The caramel is very nice.”

“These guys take me back _years,_ ” Jamie says, unwrapping one for himself. “Much better than Freddos!”

Phew. Angela is doubly relieved that she didn’t offer one of her usual critiques if these chocolates are from his childhood. Lena took it as a personal insult the last time she wrinkled her nose at one of those awful chocolate oranges the British seem to love so much.

“What else did you bring back?” Angela asks, peering in. Jamie sweeps the rest of the chocolate bars onto the floor to expose some bundled up clothes, a cricket ball, and a very beaten up looking cricket bat. A big chunk is missing from the tip.

“Glad I finally got this back,” he says, holding it up. “First bat I ever had! But what I _really_ wanted to show you was _this_.”

Jamie rummages in the suitcase.

“Now, I woulda liked to get ya somethin’ special from Straya, but time wasn’t on my side for what I had in mind.”

“You—brought something back for me?” Angela says, hesitantly.

“Well yeah, had to get a souvenir from down under for ya, didn’t I!”

Jamie procures a fabric pouch from beneath his swimming trunks, straightening up and puffing out his chest as he hands it over. Angela breathes out a relieved laugh. He frowns.

“What’s so funny?”                                             

“Nothing, I just—for some reason I was half expecting it to be a kangaroo shaped dildo, or something.”

Jamie bursts out laughing.

“Jesus, you’ve got a dirtier mind than I thought!” he says, like he’s thoroughly impressed by this. “Now I wish I HAD brought one back for ya!"

“I’d much rather you didn’t. Really. The only Australian-shaped thing I want inside me is you.”

“Holy _shit_ , babe! That uh—that is VERY good to know!”

“Please, as if you didn’t know already,” Angela says, laughing. She holds up the pouch. “May I see what’s inside?”

“Go right ahead!”

Angela opens it. Inside is a decorative stone heart that appears to be carved out of jade.

“Oh, Jamie!” she gasps, having not expected something like this at all. She takes it out. “Is this—it looks like jade!”

“’Kay, er, bit of backstory,” Jamie says, shuffling closer to spread both hands on her thighs. “Roadie’s mum makes all these trinkets outta greenstone, right? Jewellery and what have ya.”

“Greenstone?”

“Yeah, s’this uh—stone that’s used in a lotta Maori stuff. Proper New Zealand souvenirs. Anyway, after I told her about ya, she INSISTED I give ya that one specifically!”

“How lovely!” Angela says, so touched by this she has to hold her chest. Jamie rakes a hand through his hair, his face having gone all red.

“She coulda turned it into a necklace, but I sorta thought that’d be a little heavy on ya, so. Dunno if y’wanted it as a paperweight or what.”

“It’s much too beautiful for that,” Angela says, gazing at it. The heart is a dark green colour that’s flecked with white spots. It feels weighty in her palm, cool and smooth where it’s been polished. While Roadhog’s mother has clearly encouraged him, Angela is incredibly impressed that Jamie would actually want to give her something like this—something so meaningful, akin to her bracelet. He seems to be very good at this sort of thing even though he seems nervous about it, scratching his cheek.

“So y’like it?”

“I love it, Jamie, thank you!”

“Thank god for that!” he laughs, slouching like he’s relieved. “Didn’t know if hearts were really your thing.”

“They absolutely are, and _especially_ when they’re from you,” Angela says, before leaning in and stealing a kiss from him. She can feel him grinning against her lips.

“Ooooh. I’ll hafta give ya more of ‘em then,” Jamie says, suggestively.

“I certainly wouldn’t say no. Though I’ve just remembered that I have a present for you, too.”

“Wha—really?!”

Some of Jamie’s missing energy seems to return when they rush back upstairs, Angela clutching his hand along the way. She fishes out a big gift-wrapped box from her dresser drawer and passes it to him where he’s sitting cross-legged on her bed. Jamie’s eyes go so wide that Angela chuckles.

“Angie, what—”

“Consider it a late Christmas present,” she says, watching him tear the wrapping off. It’s the mecha model kit she bought him in Japan last year.

“Fuck!” Jamie says, yelling it. He’s holding the box out in front of him with both hands, gawking. “How did—how the fuck did you get this?!”

“Is it a good one?” Angela asks, hopefully. She sits next to him.

“Uhhh, yeah it is!” he is, almost sputtering, as though this should be obvious. “S’only the fucking—master grade wing zero! S’practically vintage!”

The box is slightly worn around the edges, but Genji said that was quite normal due to the age of the kit. Most of what Genji told her at the time went over her head, except for the fact that this mech was supposedly quite sought after and, in his opinion, an exceptionally cool gift for someone who likes making models. Really, Angela just liked the look of it because of its feathery wings.

Jamie whips the box open to assess the sheets of plastic containing all the parts.

“Gonna hafta find my airbrush for this beauty,” he says, in absolute awe of it. “Christ, look at those twin busters! And it even comes with a little—it—holy _fuck!_ ”

His enthusiasm is adorable, and Angela is smiling so hard it’s hurting her face. She can’t resist wrapping her arms around his shoulders to cuddle him. Even when she does Jamie doesn’t stop staring at the kit.

“Angie—seriously, how in the bloody hell did you get this?!”

“I was in this shopping arcade with Genji and Hana one weekend,” she says. “All the shops there were full of—I don’t know, merchandise? Lots of action figures and posters. Some animation cels from those cartoons you like. They were very expensive, though.”

“Shit, I think I know the place you’re on about,” Jamie says, finally looking at her. Now he seems in awe of her, too. “Y’really went somewhere like that?”

“I did, yes. A lot of it was lost on me so I asked Genji what he recommended. We were looking at different models for quite some time, but this one stood out to me. I thought the wings were very pretty.”

“Y’mean Genji knew you were—lookin’ for something, for me?” Jamie asks, cautiously.

“I just told him I wanted something for a friend.” Angela kisses his temple. “I pictured you sitting in engineering building it. After seeing even more of these mech type things at your place, I hoped you’d like it.”

“LIKE it?! Babe, this is—I mean just bloody _look_ at it!” he says, whacking the box with his left hand. “Ow!”

“Oh, be careful!"

“Fuck, it’s—you’re just—”

Suddenly Jamie tosses the box aside and gathers Angela into bone-crushing cuddle, burying his face in her neck.

“What in the actual Christing fuck did I ever do to deserve a woman like you!” he says, wailing. Angela laughs breathlessly where he’s partially winded her. She squeezes him back, though.

“I— _ah_ —ask myself the same thing about you!”

Jamie moans at this, a pained and almost unhappy sound even though he’s hugging her so tightly she’s afraid she might pop.

“I’m just _so_ happy you like it!”

“I fucking LOVE it!”

Jamie pushes off her and cups her face. His eyes are intense on hers. Angela freezes up, because it feels like he’s going to follow this with—something else, she isn’t sure what. Jamie breathes in.

Then he tackles her into the bed.

“Stop, stop!” Angela says, squirming away from him when he dives down to kiss her.  “You’re going to—your stomach!”

“Stop fucking worrying about that and let me kiss this gorgeous face of yours!”

“I’m the one who should be kissing _you!_ ” Angela wriggles when he starts kissing across her cheek and nose, pressing gently on his chest. “I still need to pay you back for that—that wall of kisses you sent me!”

“Oh,” Jamie says, blinking down at her. Then his eyes narrow, and he smirks. “Yeah, you’re right! You owe me _big_ time!”

Jamie rolls them over so he’s on his back and Angela is straddling him instead.

“Best make a start then, hadn’tcha!” he says, smugly, holding her by the waist. Angela just laughs before dropping to cover his handsome face with kisses—forehead, eyebrows, chin, nose, every part of him she can.

“Could get used to this,” he sighs, blissfully, though when she keeps kissing him while avoiding his lips Jamie tilts his chin up. “Oi, give us a proper one.”

“Just one?” Angela says, innocently, pulling back when he tries to kiss her himself.

“Oooohhh, you cheeky thing,” Jamie purrs. She obliges him anyway, lips and tongue all soft and slow on his. He makes this pleased thrum of a sound in his throat that lets her know without looking he’s probably getting hard from it. Angela presses a few lighter kisses over his lips, not wanting this to go any further when she’s still so aware of his injury.

“Think you need take a seat higher up,” Jamie says, somewhat breathlessly. “Lemme return the favour, give you a _real_ Aussie souvenir.”

“And what might that be?” Angela asks, brushing her nose over his. Jamie grins.

“A true blue Australian kiss.”

She tips her head, frowning.

“Isn’t every kiss you give me Australian?”

“It is, but I mean.” Jamie reaches down to brush his knuckles between her legs. “I’m talking about a kiss _down under_.”

Ah. Angela chuckles at this, even though it makes her shiver all over, heat rushing to all the right places.

“That’s an excellent pun, but—I’m afraid I’d rather wait until your bruising has gone down.”

“Come on, Angie, sitting on my face ain’t gonna hurt me.”

“But it will probably lead to things that might.”

Jamie pouts, starting to rub between her legs. He stops when she shakes her head.

“Please, I’m really—I wouldn’t be comfortable with that,” Angela says. “When your bruise isn’t so aggravated, I promise we can do more.”

“Alright, alright,” Jamie sighs, hand flopping back on the bed. He must be feeling tired again to surrender this easily. “Doesn’t mean I wanna stop kissin’, though.”

“I don’t either,” she says quietly, before leaning in, again.

Really, Angela would love to enjoy a more intimate afternoon with him, but kissing is still a lovely alternative while he’s recovering and they’re both so thirsty for one another. It doesn’t take long for Jamie to start yawning, though, flagging around the same time as he did yesterday.

Rather than taking a nap, he comes downstairs to keep her company while she puts together a Sunday roast with the few supplies she has left in the fridge. Most of Angela’s afternoon is spent sitting in his lap at the kitchen table, killing time with more kisses while waiting for the chicken to cook. When it’s almost ready Jamie remembers he left his phone in his jacket. He half-heartedly pokes at it until its battery finally dies, casting it aside and propping his face in his hands while Angela dishes up. She thought eating might’ve energised him, but Jamie returns to bed after dinner, lethargic from a combination of his food coma and jetlag.

“Don’t wanna go back to work,” he says, grumbling. He’s flat on his back, human arm slung over his eyes.

“Gosh, I need to put our phones on charge,” Angela says. She’s been so preoccupied enjoying his company that it’s only just occurred to her that the weekend is almost over. “Are you sure you’re okay with going in tomorrow? With—your stomach, and jetlag?”

 “Yeah, no worries. Just not lookin’ forward to gettin’ up at the arse crack o’dawn.”

Angela splutters.

“I wouldn’t consider seven a.m. to be the ‘arse crack of dawn’.”

“Eugh, might as well be!” Jamie huffs. “Wish we could stay in bed all day.”

“I wish we could too, but at least we’re going in together,” Angela says, stroking his hair back into the pillow. It’s much tamer than usual, feels thick and silky between her fingers.

Oh. Come to think of it, tomorrow will be the first time they’re in headquarters together since they began dating.

“Actually, that’s something we need to discuss,” Angela says. Jamie lifts his arm away to look at her. His eyebrows are drawn together.

“Huh?”

“Our contracts. I mean—declaring our relationship. We agreed to talk about it tomorrow, but that was before you surprised me coming home early.”

“Oh. Right, yeah.” Jamie drags his metal hand over his face. “Totally slipped my mind.”

An uncomfortable weight drops in Angela’s stomach. He’s probably and understandably far too tired to properly discuss something as huge as this, especially when they’re getting ready for bed, but they really do need to talk about it before tomorrow.

“I know you’re exhausted. It’s just—I think it’s best if we go over it, so that I know what our plan is.”

“Guess so,” Jamie says, back to hiding his eyes with his arm. “What’s your contract say about it then? S’what y’wanted to talk about, right?”

“It’s probably written in yours, too. We have to let our managers know that we’re in a relationship.”

“Why? How’s it anyone’s business but ours?”

He’s scowling under his arm judging by the crease on his forehead. Angela studies her fingernails, regretting having brought this up even though they don’t have a choice.

“As we are technically operating individually, as agents, I think it’s all to do with preventing a conflict of interest.”

“Uhhh,” Jamie says, laughing. “What?”

“It was just—something to that effect. There was a whole section on it, I can’t remember the exact wording.”

“Ugh.” He turns slightly away from her. “Only just started going out with ya. Nobody else should come into it!”

Through text he didn’t seem bothered about this. Jamie’s evasive and uncomfortable reaction right now will at least partially be down to his fatigue, but somehow this is more what Angela was expecting from him. It’s disappointing, but she isn’t very excited by the prospect of everyone knowing about them so soon, either.

“So we _have_ to let ‘em know?” Jamie asks, lifting his arm again. He’s still scowling, but there’s an uncertainty in his eyes that makes Angela lean over him, needing to reassure him.

“Not immediately,” she says, back to threading her fingers through his hair. “There was no time specified, just that it needed to be done. But I suspect the sooner the better. It’s the right thing to do.”

Jamie puffs out his cheeks. He’s staring up at the ceiling like he’s thinking hard. Angela hates that she’s putting him under pressure like this. It isn’t just him, though—it’s an added pressure on her as well, thinking of the paperwork, of having everyone know about her private life when it’s been private for so very long.

Worse than any of that is the thought of facing Lena. Angela wants to believe she’d be happy for them, but the thought of explaining the whole thing tomorrow has her stomach twisting, because she knows that Lena’s reaction almost certainly won’t be the one that she wants to hear.

“If I’m really honest, I don’t want to tell anyone, either,” Angela admits, quietly. For all the guilt she feels tempting Jamie with an out like this, they haven’t even been dating for a month yet. “I’d rather take things at our own pace before having to worry about anyone else knowing.”

Jamie’s scowl loosens. He sits up, eyes now level with hers. Angela offers him a hopeful smile.

“Then let’s just—keep it to ourselves for now, yeah?” he says, smiling back. “Don’t see why they hafta know right off the bat. Doesn’t exactly involve any of ‘em, does it?”

This shouldn’t be such a relief, but it is. Angela nods.

“I think—maybe, after a few more weeks, we should talk about it again. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure, s’fine by me.”

“You know this means we’ll have to be discreet, don’t you? Until we’re ready.”

“’Course,” Jamie says. He rubs his neck, eyes flicking away from her. “S’what y’said before, I get it.”

Angela guides Jamie’s face back to hers. He seems to soften when their eyes meet, like he can tell that she’s nervous, too. She hopes he can.

“It will be tough for both of us,” she says. “I don’t want to pretend that we’re not together. But we are, and we know we are, and that’s all that matters, really. We’ll manage.”

“Yeah, alright,” he says. Jamie’s eyes are drooping. “It’s a weight offa my back, so if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Angela tells herself this is the right thing to do as she kisses him, a promise shared between them that this is something to be revisited at a later date. She just wishes it wasn’t niggling at her hours later, Jamie crashed out and snoring when she goes to turn the light off. There’s plenty of time to tell the others, Angela thinks, curling on her side to face him. They just need a little more for themselves first.

She nudges him awake at 7am and is dressed with a plate of toast ready for him while he’s still sitting in bed yawning. Jamie is bleary-eyed and grumpy, struggling to pull his hoodie on while complaining that he needs more sleep, but she manages to get him out of the house and into her car in relatively decent time after assuring him that he can nap on the train. He’s coming back in the evening to collect his suitcase, but Angela kind of wants him to stay for another night. It would be nice to spend more than a couple of days with him and she wants to keep an eye on his bruising, too. She’ll ask him later, when he’s woken up a bit more.

Angela has never shared a journey into work with anyone. Giddy as she steps onto her usual train with Jamie behind her, she leads them to a two-seat booth where they can sit together. As they sit down Jamie doesn’t look anymore awake than he did forty minutes ago when he first opened his eyes.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” he says, croaking it. “Like I wanna di—iiive right back into bed,” he adds, correcting himself.

“Then nap,” Angela says, rubbing his thigh through his shorts. “We have an entire hour on here.”

“Bit cramped, isn’t it?” he says, folding his arms. His legs are so long that his knees are pressed against the hard plastic of the seat in front.

“We can stand if you’d rather.”

“Nah, s’alright.” Jamie bumps their shoulders, grinning. “Shoulda sat on my lap. Give you a good ride in.”

“Shhhh,” Angela says, though she’s grinning as she runs her fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it out where it’s all mussed. “Other people will hear you.”

Jamie leans his forehead against the window, and Angela glances at the other commuters around them. Most have their eyes closed. Some people are on their tablets and phones, others staring with glazed eyes out of the window. Everyone is immersed in their own bubble. Angela turns to Jamie again and leans across to kiss his cheek, wanting to make the most of their bubble while she can. He lifts his head off the window and faces her, looking more awake.

“Ready to put our brilliant plan into action then?” he says, lowering his voice.

“What plan?”

“The don’t-let-anyone-know-we’re-fucking plan, of course!” Jamie says, with a winning smile. Angela laughs, taking his left hand when he offers it.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, lacing their fingers together.

Shuffling down into the seat so he can spread his legs wider, Jamie rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes like he’s going to nap after all. Angela breathes out as the doors close, and then the train finally sets off for London.

It’s time to go back to work.  
  
  
  
  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thaaat's it, Mercy, enjoy your lovely bubble with Junky boy _while you can_...!!!!
> 
> Oh man, okay, this is some backstory I've had in my head since before I started writing this fic last year. When I started liking Junkrat and Mercy as more than just a crackship, I pictured them having quite a similar history, at least in terms of a complete (apparent?) lack of family. Overwatch's threadbare lore has actually been a blessing in that respect, as it allows us to all run wild imagining what their lives could've been like. It also made bathtime a lot more interesting in this chap!!! 
> 
> Also, the chocolate orange referenced is [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry%27s_Chocolate_Orange). Mercy doesn't know what she's missing!!!!
> 
> ANYWAY, massive huge thanks to [Sneepy](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) for betaing this, and to [Ren](http://huntedjunker.tumblr.com) for providing some essential and wonderfully insightful pointers on the Australian NT! THANK YOU <3
> 
> Next chapter! Coming! SOON!!!!!


	16. Closer

Standing at the head of the conference room table, Jack smiles at everyone seated around it.

“Team,” he says, putting his coffee down. “After everything that’s happened in the last six months, it is _great_ to have you all back.”

“Great to be back,” Jesse deadpans, earning a round of stifled giggling.

“Sorry for dragging you back to work, but it _is_ almost February.”

“Woah there, some of us are still in our winter hibernation! I don’t reckon you’ll be gettin’ any work outta me until springtime, now.”

Jack heaves a sigh as everyone else laughs again.

“I’m just foolin’,” Jesse says, with a languid smile. “Feels good to be back, boss.”

“Likewise. Before we get down to business, I take it you’ve all enjoyed your break?”

A happy chatter of agreement rings around the table. Jesse is leaning back in his seat with folded arms and drooping eyelids, likely still jetlagged after returning from Japan. Next to him, Lena is bright-eyed as usual, bouncing slightly where she’s jigging both legs under the table. Hana, Lúcio and Roadhog are along the same row, and on the opposite side of them are Ana, Reinhardt, Torbjörn and Winston. Angela is sitting at the far end of the table, and there’s just one occupied seat beside her. Its occupant hasn’t stopped fidgeting for the last five minutes—from the moment she sat down, essentially.

The only two people missing from this meeting are Genji and Zenyatta. Their absence saddens Angela as she’d gotten so used to seeing them daily back in December. But having the rest of the team together is heartwarming nonetheless, especially considering everything that’s happened in her life since they were all together at the Christmas party. How was that only last month? It feels like it’s been much, much longer than that.

“If everyone’s settled, I think it’s time we get started.” Jack flips the wall projector on. “There’s a lot to cover this time around as it’s been a while since we all touched base.”

“Pleeease tell us there’s _some_ good news today,” Hana says, slumping over the table with her arms stretched out across it. “I don’t think I can take any drama when we’ve just come back from vacation!”

“No ‘drama’ as such, just a lot of information,” Jack says, and there’s more chuckling when Hana gives an exaggerated groan of relief. “Winston, could you bring up the agenda, please?”

Winston taps at his laptop until the outline for today’s meeting is illuminating the wall. This is the first Overwatch team meeting since the New Year because it’s the first time everyone has been back at headquarters, but thankfully there are no urgent points of discussion on the list. It seems like business as usual.

Jack opens with a summary of the last three months. He discusses their assignments, including everything that happened in Japan along with the missions elsewhere, and praises the team for successfully controlling each rogue omnic incident that occurred. Angela appreciates this recap because the information they were given during her deployment was limited, and she didn’t hear about what the others were doing while she was consumed with working on the patch.

Jack goes on to cover their ongoing correspondence with Japan’s Ministry of Technology, and Angela is distracted by something moving beneath the table. Fingertips brushing against her thigh, a touch just shy of tickling that’s still enough to make her shiver.

Angela wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. Surely he isn’t doing this intentionally—not in the middle of a meeting. He’s probably just fidgeting.

“You’ll all be pleased to hear we’ve had no more reported instances of AI abnormalities since the Ibaraki incident.” Jack waves his hand to bring forward the next holographic slide of the presentation. It’s a world map with various cities highlighted on it. “So, our main focus now is locating Null Sector’s hideouts, and systematically shutting them down.”

“Coulda sworn you guys mentioned divisions in Russia and Egypt back then,” Jesse says, tapping a pen against his lips. “’Cause I can’t see either of ‘em circled on that map.”

“That’s because the perpetrators set up camp in those areas,” Jack says. “We suspected that they were co-ordinated lone rangers, as opposed to the beginnings of a true Null Sector resurgence. But we have reason to believe that there’s a bigger undercurrent of activity than…”

The fingertips return. Angela knows it's deliberate the second he touches her thigh, palm warm and heavy and stroking slowly, up and down. Ignoring the deliciously hot rush it sends through the rest of her body, Angela pats his hand to convey a _thank you, but not now,_ and gently guides it back to Jamie’s lap.

Junkrat’s lap. He needs to be Junkrat while they’re at work.

“… questioned the detained suspects from the Ibaraki and Vologda incidents,” Jack says. “According to their statements…”

Junkrat immediately reaches for her leg again. He squeezes the flesh of it and then strokes further, dragging his human fingers along the inside of her thigh and hiking her skirt up inch by inch. Angela sucks in a breath, willing herself to _not_ enjoy being groped during an official business meeting, before clamping her knees together and wrenching his hand off. She forces it onto his lap and holds it there, only letting go when she’s sure he’s gotten the message to _please refrain while we are SURROUNDED by the others._ Junkrat clears his throat.

“…conflicting reports from our senior managers. So, that’s where we’re at now,” Jack says, clicking off the perpetrators’ profiles.  

Wonderful. Angela missed all of that. Honestly, of all the times for him to do something like this. She exhales sharply through her nose to let Jamie— _Junkrat_ know that she’s unimpressed. When Junkrat innocently scratches his cheek Angela shoots him a glare, but his eyes are focused on the presentation, this smug grin on his face that screams  _SORRY NOT SORRY!_

“Listen, boss, I don’t mean to step outta line here, but it seems to me that management don’t know what they’re talkin’ about.” Jesse pauses, then glances to Winston, who’s typing up this meeting’s minutes. “Uh—this ain’t on record, is it?”

“I’ll keep that one off the record,” Winston says, smiling at him above the laptop. “There’s been a lot of misinformation all around during this operation and it’s important we keep an open dialogue here.”

“Jack and I have been conducting plenty of our own research over the last month or so,” Ana says. “Any additional information that comes our way will be treated as supplementary. _We_ are the agents, so it is up to _us_ to be more thorough if we want to assume responsibility for this case.”

“That’s precisely what I’m gettin’ at,” Jesse says. “I’d rather take responsibility if it means knowing what we’re gettin’ ourselves into. We were thrown in at the deep end with piss poor intel last year and I don’t fancy goin’ through that again.”

“None of us want it to happen again,” Jack says. “Believe me, I’ve provided ample feedback on how poorly things have been handled. Senior management are aware that our comms and intelligence were unacceptable. So, from here on out, each of us will be on official active duty again, meaning much less dependency on them.”

“Sorry, can I just—‘active duty’?” Lúcio asks. “You mean, we’re finally gonna do our thing as agents now? Like in our contracts?”

“That’s right. You’ll each receive individual assignments via email later today. You guys aren’t newbies anymore so it’s the perfect time to get started.”

“Okay, cool.”

“If we’re all happy with that, I’d like to bring your attention to our current reconnaissance targets,” Jack says, gesturing back to the map. “These are the spots we’d like to investigate moving forward.”

“Some of those places are a bit worrying,” Lena says. “I mean, Dublin? Venice? You don’t think there’s any Talon involvement, do you?”

“None that we're currently aware of, but at this stage we’re not ruling anything out. Part of your assignments will be to investigate any leads that may point in Talon’s direction, so I’m glad you’ve already picked up on that.”

With a sinking heart, Angela notes the circled locations: Dublin, Paris, Venice, and a couple of US states. Up until last year deployments never bothered her—were simply another part of the job—but the threat of them here and now has her eyes automatically flicking to Junkrat. He’s scowling at Jack like he’s concerned about exactly the same thing.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can—”

“S’this mean we’re gonna get sent away again?” Junkrat asks, interrupting Lena in the process. He seems to ignore the subsequent glare thrown his way but it makes Angela edge away from him, into the other side of her seat.

“It does, but not until we have exact locations,” Jack says. “We’re hoping to keep all deployments as brief as possible this time. No more standby for weeks on end.”

“Riiiight,” Junkrat says, sounding unconvinced. “Any idea who’s going where? And when?”

“Not yet. We’re trying to plan and co-ordinate our resources efficiently, so we’ll be able to give you guys an adequate heads up before any deployments. Rest assured we’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

“That doesn’t rule out the possibility of urgent deployments,” Ana adds, leaning over the table to address everyone. “I want to emphasise that we are currently in a clearing, not out of the woods yet. You should all be prepared for any emergencies as they arise, as you always have been.”

“If we’re all working together, I have every confidence that we’ll have this situation resolved within the next few months,” Jack says. “Thanks to Angela’s hard work we have a safety net in place should any further incidents occur, and more time to work with before we can put a stop to all this once and for all.”

He looks directly at her, and the others follow suit. Angela smiles, warmed all over by the fond gaze of her colleagues.

“No thanks necessary,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m happy to have afforded us more time.”

“You’re doing a video conference with the Japanese team after this, right?” Winston says.

“Yes, with regards to their testing. Unless I am needed on any assignments elsewhere, all of my attention will be focused here at headquarters writing up the white paper for the patch.”

“Excellent,” Jack says. “I’m looking forward to hearing your feedback from the Japanese team. You’ve given us a brilliant head start here, Angela. It is very much appreciated.”

“Please, I will always do everything I can to help.”

Jack draws everyone’s attention back to the map. Now that they’re all distracted, Junkrat reaches for her beneath the table. Angela bristles, expecting to be groped again, but Junkrat surprises her by holding her hand instead.

It is truly lovely to be appreciated by her colleagues, but even their appreciation is incomparable to having him by her side like this. Angela grips his fingers as Junkrat rubs his thumb over her knuckles, his own way of saying that he’s proud of her, or maybe just that he’s here. That he’s hers, however secretly.

Keeping her eyes trained on the presentation, Angela cannot help but dread the inevitable separation coming their way. It’ll probably happen sooner rather than later, if Jack is making such good progress on this case. The only positives she can derive are that none of the locations highlighted on the map are as far away as Japan, and Jack has no reason to lie about wanting to keep their foreign postings brief. But it still hurts to think about being apart from Junkrat again considering how horrible it was last year. They weren’t even dating then.

Angela flexes her fingers, indicating that it’s time to let go, and when Junkrat does she tries to focus on the rest of the meeting. She was adamant she wouldn’t let any postings come between them this time around, but that white paper won’t write itself if she were to be deployed with Junkrat. No matter how new and exciting it is Angela can’t afford to prioritise their relationship over work, not when this is such a serious case. With any luck they might be posted together, though it’ll mean keeping their relationship covert along with the mission itself, and if they _aren’t_ posted together it simply means Angela will be able to focus more on her job. They’ll just have to make the most of their time together while they can, which is what she’s been trying to do anyway.

Pointless worrying about it for the moment. She needs to concentrate on the here and now.

“Phew, alright. Aside from Any Other Business I think that’s everything,” Jack says. He’s been presenting for hours now, still standing at the head of the table. “Any outstanding questions?”

“How are you, like, not the CEO already?” Hana says, to the bright laughter of the senior members of the team.

“Winston, keep that one off the record too please,” Jack says, grinning at him.

The AOB is succinct, with a follow up meeting scheduled for next month and a promise that Jack will keep them informed of any further developments. It’s almost midday so everyone disperses for lunch as they leave the conference room. Junkrat and Roadhog are loitering by the coffee machine when Angela comes out, probably because Junkrat is waiting to catch her. She beelines to the elevator instead, keeping her head down to avoid the guilt of ignoring him when he calls to her.  Her video conference with the Japanese team is at 12pm sharp so she doesn’t have time to chat with him.

It’s awful, but Angela has also been afraid of interacting with Junkrat around headquarters ever since they returned to work. Anything more than a friendly smile when they pass each other between departments seems like too much of a hint that there’s something going on between them, and the fear of being caught is why Angela is trying her best to separate Junkrat, her colleague, from Jamie, her boyfriend. This is difficult when Angela struggles to pretend she isn’t thrilled every time she sees him, that her stomach doesn’t jolt when he risks winking at her if they spot one another through a window. She knows that this secret is only a temporary thing, but the subject of publicising their relationship hasn’t resurfaced yet, so until then this is how it has to be. Perhaps it might be worth discussing again once they know what's going on.

Her phone buzzes while she’s in the elevator. Angela almost doesn’t want to check it, but Junkrat should understand why she left without acknowledging him. Hesitantly, she pulls her phone out of her skirt pocket.

_  
Lol bye then :P_

  
Ah, that’s a relief. He doesn’t seem to be angry.

_  
Sorry, Kuniko hates it when I don’t dial in on time._

  
_Boooooo_  
_Was only gonna ask if you wanted lunch with us lol_

_  
I’m having lunch in my office today because of the conference._

_  
Hffffffff fine then_

_  
Sorry. :(_

_  
It’s ok just make it up to me later ;*_

  
Junkrat definitely isn’t angry, and Angela is smiling when she’s sitting in her office. There are a couple of minutes before she needs to dial into the video conference so she thumbs out another text.

  
_I plan to. ;)_  
_That was very naughty of you, by the way. In the meeting._  
  
  
_YESSSSSSSSSS_  
_Haha not my fault you’re IRRESISTABLE :P_  
  
  
_You know I’m flattered, but what if they had noticed?_  
_You’re playing with fire doing things like that when we’re with the others._  
  
  
_Uhhhh playing with fire is sorta my thing lol_  
_Tho I like playing with other things too ;)))_

  
She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

  
_And what might those other things be?_ Angela writes anyway, because she simply cannot resist indulging him.  
  
  
_Things that begin with SWISS_  
_And end in tits ass and PUSSY_  
  
  
It’s exactly what Angela was expecting, but it has her laughing nonetheless.  
  
  
_Wow, I would never have guessed! ;)_  
_Anyway, I will see you later on xx_  
  
  
_Hahaha alright :P_  
_DOOONT BE LAAAAATE!!!! ;) xxx_  
  
  
Stashing her phone away, Angela exchanges the usual pleasantries with Kuniko when she joins the conference, grateful to be dragged into yet another meeting if it means time will go faster. It eats up a good couple of hours and afterwards she throws herself into answering emails and typing up her notes for Jack. Without Junkrat distracting her Angela ends up losing track of time, whipping her winter coat on and dashing out of her office quite a bit later than planned.

It’s pouring down with rain outside. Her umbrella is sitting under the desk back in her office, but Angela doesn’t want to delay any further so she’ll just have to brave it.  Outside reception, in the sheltered entranceway of headquarters, she’s taking her phone out to text Junkrat when she accidentally bumps into Lena.

“Oof!”

“I’m so sorry!” Angela gasps, pocketing her phone and grabbing Lena’s shoulders to steady her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

“No worries love!” Lena chuckles. She has the hood of her puffy winter jacket up like she’s ready to brave the rain too. “Glad I’ve caught you actually ‘cause I’m about to meet up with Emily. It’s two-for-one cocktails at All Bar One tonight!”

“Oh dear, on a weeknight? That’s a recipe for disaster!”

“Isn’t it! Did you wanna come with? Have a girly night out?”

Every time, Angela thinks. Every damn time!

“I would love to, but I can’t!”

“Nooooo! Come _on_ Ange, don’t be—oh.” Lena pauses, then bursts out with, “Are you seeing your new man?!”

Angela glances around them. A few people from finance are out here smoking but there’s nobody else within immediate earshot.

“I—I am, yes!”

“Say no more doc, say no more!” Lena says, giving her a cheeky elbow. “How’s it going then? Good? _Really_ good?”

“It… Oh, Lena, it’s _wonderful_ ,” Angela gushes, because it _is_ , and Lena is the only person she’s been able to tell.

“Really??”

“Yes! We’ve been having so much fun together and it’s a breath of fresh air being with someone so—different.” God, Angela feels giddy just talking about him, a fluttering in her chest that has her smiling from ear to ear. She looks down at her feet. “He makes me feel like I’m—I don’t know. A teenager all over again, somehow. I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing really, I just—I’m very happy, that’s all.”

“Oh my gooood,” Lena whines, "it isn’t embarrassing, it’s bloody adorable! I’ve _never_ seen you like this before! We must catch up sometime because I NEED to know more!”

“Yes, let’s arrange something soon!” Angela says. It’s a little harder to maintain enthusiasm when the prospect of Lena knowing more is terrifying. “I’m already running late now so I’ll text you later on. Perhaps we could do something next weekend!”

“Next weekend would be perfect! I’ll pencil it in!”

Lena tugs her into a cuddle. Angela hugs back feeling less guilty than usual for declining her invitation, because honestly, it’s downright impressive that Lena manages to ask her out every time she has other plans. She must have a sixth sense for it!

A train is just pulling in when Angela makes it to the underground station. She jumps onto the carriage and fishes out her phone so that she can finally text him—text Jamie, _her_ Jamie—and Angela can’t stop grinning, doesn’t think she’s stopped since saying goodbye to Lena.  
  
  
_On my way!!_  
  
  
_I’m waaaaaitiiiiiiiing ;)_  
  
  
She’s been eager to escape from HQ every day for weeks now. This isn’t because work has been stressful, but because Angela has somehow fallen into the unexpected yet incredibly welcome habit of going back to Jamie’s house every evening… and staying overnight.

When he initially pitched it to her Angela thought it was a one-off suggestion. They hadn’t seen each other all day, it was their first week back at work. He was horny. _She_ was horny. It made sense, so Angela was happy to oblige him. _Stay over, won’tcha? Might freeze to death without these Swiss pillows keeping me warm on such a cold night!_

Angela enjoyed the novelty of waking up next to Jamie and watching him suffer through his alarms, even though it meant picking up a toothbrush on her way to HQ and changing into a spare set of clothing once she arrived. But then Angela offered to cook dinner for Jamie and Roadhog the next night, and she also had some new dresses delivered to HQ so she wouldn’t be caught out with nothing to wear in case Jamie invited her to stay again.

Thank goodness she did. _Where’dya think you’re going?! Y’can’t cook a meal like that and not expect to get THOROUGHLY dicked down as a reward! Now take that bloody dress off, and COME HERE._

Really, Angela wanted to cook as an apology to Roadhog for making so much noise the previous night. But as Jamie pestered her she stayed again, and again, until suddenly it was the weekend and she finally needed to return home. She missed her electric toothbrush, had food left in her own fridge, and figured he’d probably want a break as they’d shared a full week together…

… but then Jamie asked her to stay the _next_ week.

So she did.

Realistically, it’s logical to stay with Jamie during the week when he lives so much closer to headquarters. A twenty minute commute certainly beats an hour on her regular train into London.

The commute is simply a bonus, though, because the real indulgence is going back to Jamie’s place each night. Angela loves cooking dinner for him, unwinding with him in front of his laptop after a long day in the office. She loves how Jamie throws her on his bed, how he tickles her, kisses her, holds her in his arms while they’re watching something. How he fucks her, hard and slow, when it’s late and she should be asleep. Cold winter nights are so much better with Jamie’s duvet tangled around them, his body hot and strong and smothering hers. After so many years on her own it’s luxurious waking up next to someone, too, even if that someone needs far more poking than necessary to have a damned wash more than once a week.

So, Angela has had something to look forward to every day after work lately. Today, however, is even more exciting than usual despite the torrential rainfall when she exits the underground, because this time she isn’t going straight back to his place. They’re meeting somewhere different. Doing something different.

Angela has never been to this pub before, a grimy old building with broken glass scattered around the doorway. As she steps inside, brushing the excess rain off her shoulders, there’s a gaggle of noisy punters at the bar and lots of formidable looking locals gathered around a television watching a football match. Clearly not her type of place, but she can’t see any of the team coming here either, making it ideal for a post-work rendezvous.

She attempts to fluff her sodden bangs and runs a fingertip beneath her eyes to catch any smeared mascara, though she isn’t too worried about her appearance given the amount of times Jamie has seen her with messy hair and smudged makeup—often being the cause of it. Angela spots him sitting in one of the booths, chin in his metal palm while he thumbs at his phone. His jacket is bundled up next to him and he’s wearing his orange hoodie, sleeves pulled up to the elbows. It needs washing, again.

Jamie’s face is slack and his eyes are glazed until they peek over the top of his phone. The sheer delight that spreads across his face when he notices her, in lifted eyebrows and a teeth-baring grin, is so cute and touching that Angela giggles.

“There she is!” Jamie says, dropping his phone and jumping to his feet. Angela rushes around the table and into his open arms.

“Hey!”

“Hey y’self! Where’s your brolly?!” Jamie ruffles his hands over her back like he’s trying to dry her off. “You’re wet through!”

“I was in such a rush to leave that I forgot it,” Angela says, muffled where she’s talking into his shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“Ohhh, you will be,” Jamie says, a growl that’s pressed into her hair. “Thought I was about to get stood up!”

“You’re standing up now, aren’t you?”

Angela should be ashamed of herself for this, but she isn’t when Jamie squawks out a laugh. He holds her at arm’s length.

“Angela Ziegler, do my ears deceive me, or did you just make a PUN?!”

“Unfortunately,” Angela says, unbelting her coat. “I can’t believe I just said that and got a genuine laugh out of you.”

“I am so, _so_ proud!” Jamie sniffs, wiping a fake tear from his eye. He sits and excitedly pats the space beside him. “Now come siddown so we can get you warmed up! Don’t want ya catchin’ a cold!”

“I’m fine, it’s lovely and warm in here,” Angela says, noting the condensation on the window behind him. She neatly folds her coat up. “Plus I’d rather get us some drinks before it becomes too crowded.”

“Buyin’ us a round in are ya?” Jamie says, with a quirked eyebrow. Angela rests a hand on her hip.

“Wasn’t that the entire point? I believe I owe you at least one round of drinks, as per our agreement last year.”

“Holy shit!” Jamie laughs. “Y’know what? Alright then, I accept!” He smacks his metal hand on the table. “Get us a rum and coke! DOUBLE rum and coke!”

“Understood,” Angela says, plucking her card wallet out of her handbag. “I’ll be right back.”

“Ta!”

She can feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she leaves, and Angela is grinning like an idiot while she’s waiting to be served at the bar. It’s taken far longer than either one of them anticipated, but she’s buying Jamie the drinks she promised him last year, and finally. _Finally_.

They’re having their first date _._

With Jamie’s coke and a glass of wine in hand Angela returns to their booth, each step measured so she doesn’t spill. Jamie snaps to attention the second he hears the clack of her heels over the raucous pub noise, and Angela flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, smiling at his darkening eyes as she approaches. Jamie’s aversion to subtlety is frustrating while they’re at work, but when they’re not Angela loves it, loves that he flaunts his frankly astounding attraction to her.

“Think I’ve changed my mind,” Jamie says, when she sits and sets their glasses down. “You’re gonna hafta go back to the bar.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’d rather drink in the sight of that _lovely_ fucking arse of yours moving in that _absurdly_ tight skirt,” he says, hissing it in her ear.

“That would mean I’d need to leave again,” Angela says, flattening a hand on Jamie’s chest to push him away. He takes this as the invitation it’s intended to be and hooks an arm around her waist, tugging her against him to prevent escape.

“When y’put it like that you can stay right where you are,” Jamie says, delightfully threatening. Angela’s breath leaves her in a happy sigh when he starts kissing her neck, tilting her head away from him to play their usual game of cat and mouse.

“Where’s my kiss then? Haven’t had one yet.”

“I think you’ve had several,” Angela says, squirming against him when he goes for her mouth. Jamie grunts like he doesn’t want to play anymore so Angela turns to oblige him, a full press of her lips on his. She isn’t concerned about doing this in the middle of the pub, but she is concerned when Jamie breaks the kiss, drops his forehead to her shoulder, and groans.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asks, tugging the front of his hoodie.

“Ugh, nothing, just.” He huffs into her blouse. “Thinking about the meeting today.”

“Ah… yes,” Angela says, that sinking feeling from earlier back in her chest. She’d forgotten about their potential deployments. Jamie lifts his head with a frown.

“Don’t want ya gettin’ sent away from me again.”

His eyebrows are all mussed. Angela delicately strokes them to smooth them out.

“I don’t want you to be sent away, either.”

“Reckon I’d hafta kidnap ya if I was.” Angela smiles at the slight movements of Jamie’s eyelashes as he looks over her face, from her lips to her eyes. “Got kinda used to havin’ ya around.”

This is utterly charming, but Angela can’t resist making a little quip.

“I didn’t realise I was your pet dog.”

“Didn’t mean it like that!” Jamie laughs. “But, y’know, it _is_ sorta true.”

“Um, how so?” Angela asks, folding her arms. Jamie grins.

“’Cause you’re my fucking _bitch_ , baby!”

“Ugh.” Angela rolls her eyes, though she tilts her cheek to let Jamie kiss it when he leans in. “I suppose I walked right into that. Anyway, there’s still a chance we might get posted together, so. It isn’t all bad.”

“Ch’yeah, that ain’t a chance I’m willing to bet on,” Jamie says, swiping his glass off the table.

“Me neither, really. But we can talk about it later, I don’t want to worry about that on our first date.”

Jamie puts his glass down and his arm around her to draw her close again. Angela flops into him, snuggling into the soft warmth of his hoodie. Aside from the way he looks at her, another pleasant discovery she’s made about Jamie is how incredibly tactile he is—how he’s permanently thirsty for affection if not some form of physical contact. Whenever they’re at home together he’s always pulling her into his lap, reaching for her hand, keeping his foot on hers beneath the table at dinner. The meeting today was an extension of Jamie’s insatiable need to touch her, though Angela can’t imagine what he’ll be like when the rest of headquarters knows about them and they won’t have to hide.

“Our first date. Christ,” Jamie snorts. “Only… what, half a year later than planned?”

“Surreal, isn’t it? We seem to be doing things in reverse.”

“Thiiiink I prefer it this way to be honest. Takes the pressure off worrying about whether or not I’ll get a second one, don’t it!”

“It does for me too, but I’d love to know what it would’ve been like if this _had_ happened half a year ago.”

Jamie tilts his head to peer down at her. Angela hides her smile against his chest.

“What, you wanna roleplay or something?” he asks, poking her. “That’s kinda kinky, Angie.”

“I am not asking us to roleplay, just—speaking hypothetically. I’m curious about how you would’ve acted as we didn’t know much about each other back then.”

“Why, I woulda been my usual, er, gentlemanly self! Askin’ aaall the right questions and doing all them, er—date-like-things!”

“What sort of things?” Angela asks, withdrawing to look at him. Jamie winces.

“Maybeeee… seeing if you were down to fuck?”

“You would _not!_ ” Angela gasps, playfully shoving him.                                                                       

“Okay, I’m not THAT stupid, but I definitely woulda been thinkin’ it!”

“I’m—I’m very happy to hear that, but asking if you’re ‘down to fuck’ is not something you do on a first date!”

“Hey, I ain’t exactly in the know about all this dating shit!” Jamie says, huffily. “Think the only time I’ve ever been on a ‘date’ was before I got kicked outta school. Looong time ago now, eesh!”

“Really?” Angela asks, trying not to sound too shocked. It isn’t surprising that he was expelled from school, and Jamie has made his inexperience with relationships very clear, but. He’s only been on one date before?

“Yeah,” Jamie says, holding his glass in his metal hand. He tilts it to make the ice cubes clink. “With my first girlfriend. _Only_ girlfriend, mind, ‘til you.”

Oh. Angela felt sorry for his dating inexperience, but it’s oddly pleasing to hear that he’s only had one girlfriend—makes it even more of an honour that he’s dating her now. Angela rubs his thigh through his shorts, partially out of possessiveness but mostly in appreciation.

“What did you do for your date? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“’Course I don’t!” Jamie chirps. “Mate of mine snuck us into the pictures. He was workin’ there and I couldn’t afford tickets. ‘Course we were still kicked out, but that was for… an unrelated reason.”

Jamie grins down at his rum and coke. Angela narrows her eyes at him.

“You had sex in the theatre, didn’t you.”

“BOY am I thirsty, thinks it’s time I take a nice long sip from this drink my wonderful, beautiful, EXTREMELY bangable girlfriend got for me!”

“Jamie! That’s terrible!” Angela laughs, as he takes an unnecessarily loud sip.

“Nah, was only a wristy.” He beams at her. “Wasn’t very subtle about it though, so yeah, got our arses thrown out. They threw me outta school not long after that n’all, and then I lost my arm. _Then_ my leg.” He visibly shudders. “Bad, _bad_ times.”

“That was—that was when you lost your limbs?” Angela says, bringing a hand to her chest. She wasn’t expecting his story to turn like that.

“Yeah, and she didn’t stick around afterwards. Couldn’t blame her what with half of me missing and, er, not having a future.”

Jamie shrugs like this is no big deal to him even though Angela is completely horrified. It hurts to think of anyone abandoning him after going through such traumatic and life-changing injuries, but his apathy about it hurts even more, like he’s used to people not caring.

“How could she leave you when you were—gosh, it just. I can’t bear to think about it.” Angela runs her fingers through the hair behind his ear, and Jamie tilts his head into it, adorably catlike. The only thing Jamie seems to like more than being physically affectionate with her is when she initiates affection herself. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no need for _you_ to be sorry! Was me own stupid fault! That was around the time I started messing around with explosives and it’s pret-ty clear how careless I was. SO yeah, to summarise, me n’dating hasn’t ever been a thing.”

“Then I’m happy I can make it a thing with you now,” Angela says, kissing his cheekbone. Jamie’s eyes crinkle in such a sweet way that she kisses him again, on the lips this time. “And I am truly honoured that you asked me to go on this date last year.”

“Hah, yeah, s‘probably the ballsiest stunt I’ve ever pulled!” Jamie says, rubbing his nose.

“You were certainly braver than I was.”

“Tch, _brave_ she says. Never thought you’d actually give me the time o’day so it wasn’t like I had anything planned out. Didn’t get a chance to plan anything either, seeing as you oh so _conveniently_ buggered off to Japan.” Jamie swirls the ice cubes in his glass. “But I thought about it a lot afterwards.”

“You did?” Angela asks, eagerly. They’ve been together for over a month already but she still loves these little insights into how he felt back then.

“Oh yeah,” Jamie says, frowning at her like she should know. “Constantly. Wouldn’ve brought ya here though, knew it needed to be somewhere nice. Somewhere _posh_. Get you all impressed from the get go to have a better shot!”

“A better shot,” Angela says, flatly. “You weren’t only after _that,_ were you?”

“Uhh, I was after anything I could get, like just about any other bloke would be!” Jamie laughs. “And I sure as shit wasn’t expecting to get a girlfriend outta one date!”

“Asking if I was down to fuck probably wouldn’t have helped your case.”

“Come off it, as if you’da said no to me.”

Now it’s Angela’s turn to take a subject-avoiding sip of wine. Jamie gives her a scrutinizing look.

“Don’t fuckin’ front like you weren’t well up for some prime Junkrat dick.”

“Pffft!”

 Angela barely stops herself from spraying an entire mouthful of wine over the table by cupping her mouth with her hand. Jamie is doubled over laughing.

“That’s my girl!” he declares.

“ _Honestly_ Jamie!” Angela coughs, rifling through her bag for a tissue so she can wipe her hand and face. He’s still laughing. “Okay, I think that your confidence would’ve shocked me into saying yes, if you really had said something as crude as that!”

“Alright then, Miss fuckin’ Dating Expert!” Jamie says, straightening up and crossing his arms. “If we’re roleplaying—oh, sorry, _speaking_ _hypothetically_ about our first date, what would _you_ deem safe to talk about?!”

“Please, I am by no means an expert,” Angela says, dabbing her mouth. “Let me think… I daydreamed about our date so much while I was away, but it was more me fantasizing about getting kissed—”

“Fantasizing??”

“—rather than imagining what we would talk about. As Overwatch is what brought us together, I probably would’ve asked how you were finding it. To start some conversation before said kissing.”

Jamie sucks his teeth. “Not sure my answer to that woulda been any good! I say we cut STRAIGHT to the kissing!”

He yanks her into one before she even has a chance to blink. It’s hard and slick, presses her head to the back of the booth, and Angela is left gasping when he withdraws.

“How was that for ya?” Jamie asks, voice low and eyes lidded. “Just like in your fantasies?”

“Even—even better!” Angela says, breathlessly. “But you know, it isn’t—isn’t about having a good or bad answer. It’s just about getting to know one another. Though now I’m curious,” she adds, deciding that it’s safe to have more wine. Angela squints at him over her glass. “How _did_ you find Overwatch, starting out?”

“Oh. Er. Leeeet’s just say I wasn’t exactly sold on it,” Jamie says, scratching his cheek. “Thought we were gonna get stuck into a buncha missions and, y’know, DO stuff, but all it’s been is business bullshit. Rules and ‘codes of conduct’ and being lectured about health n’fuckin’ safety.”

“Overwatch never used to be so bureaucratic,” Angela sighs. “It’s a shame, really. We had a lot more autonomy before the military’s investment, and everything has been corporate ever since. How are you finding it since we’ve gotten busier?”

Jamie knocks back the rest of his drink.

“Ehhhh. S’alright I guess,” he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Just alright?” Angela asks. She’s unused to such indifference from Jamie when his opinions tend to be extreme.

“Job’s a job, innit? Only part I’m fussed about is the people there. Person. _One_ person.” He leans in and cups his hand over Angela’s ear, dropping his voice to a loud whisper when he says, “I’m implying you’re the only good thing about it.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Angela chuckles, though her smile is uncertain when he pulls away. “Surely I’m not the _only_ thing, though. Am I?”

Jamie flops against the cushioned back of the booth, looking at the window. It’s still fogged up from the heat of the pub.

“S’pose I’ve gotten to blow _some_ things up, and workin’ with Torb’s alright when I can get on with my own projects. S’just... not what I thought it would be when I signed up.” Jamie starts drawing thin lines with his metal forefinger in the window, until he’s made one of his smiley faces. “Sitting bored out the arse in meetings all day, clocking in and out like some regular nine-to-five wanker. Not really my sorta life.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela says, feeling like it’s her responsibility to apologise on Overwatch’s behalf. She genuinely thought Jamie was satisfied with his job, if not outrageously happy about having to wake up early. Jamie smiles, frowning at her.

“You need to stop apologising for shit that ain’t your fault, missy.” His frown softens as he brushes his metal thumb beneath her chin. “Specially when you’re the one who makes it all worth it.”

“Jamie,” Angela says, smiling shyly down at her lap.

“Mean it y’know.” Jamie tips her chin up to guide her eyes back to his. He’s gazing at her, amber that warms her from head to toe. “Didn’t join Overwatch thinkin’ I’d get to meet the most beautiful woman in the world. But I did, and now she’s sittin’ here with me, buyin’ us drinks n’all.”

Angela doesn’t want to admit how good it feels to hear him say things like that when his apparent dislike of Overwatch—an integral part of their lives—is so disheartening. Now that she’s thinking about it, though, there’s a question she hasn’t asked Jamie in all the time they’ve known each other. In fact, it was one of the first things Angela was curious about, way back when she was processing his application.

“You know that makes me very happy, but… I have to ask,” she says, holding his hooded gaze. “If you dislike it so much, why _did_ you join Overwatch?”

“Huh?” Jamie blinks his eyes wide open. “Why’d I join?”

“Mm. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.”                               

“Right, no, we haven’t. Uh.” Jamie reaches for his glass only to hesitate when he sees that it’s empty, and then he’s scratching his head, looking puzzled.

“Well, I was invited, for a start. One’a them suits came after us when we were still down under. Didn’t apply off me own back.”

“Yes, but why did you accept?”

“’Cause it’s Overwatch! Who uh, who wouldn’t wanna be a—a heroic Overwatch agent?” Jamie says, swallowing. “Plus, y’know, the job security, nice big salary for doing fuck all except rescuing literal angels every now and again!”

“Okay,” Angela says, sitting back. “What’s the real reason?”

“Do… do you _really_ need to know?” Jamie says, with a smile that’s more of a grimace.

“I didn’t, but I do now that you’ve said that.”

Angela folds her arms at the subsequent _oh fuck_ reflected in Jamie’s eyes. He pauses, having realised he’s effectively cornered himself. Then he’s puffing his cheeks, roughing up the hair on the back of his head.

It seems to be taking him a worrying amount of time to think about his answer.

“If I tell ya… y’won’t judge me for it, will ya?” Jamie says, leaning away from her, like he’s afraid that she will.

“I think we are a little beyond that,” Angela says, giving him an encouraging smile despite the mounting fear about where this conversation is heading. If he’s this nervous about telling her it can’t be anywhere good, but she’s committed to him now, so she needs to try and be understanding.

More than that, she wants to _know._

“Alright, well.” Jamie purses his lips. “Not sure how much you know about my, er, _pursuits_ before joining Overwatch.”

“I… have seen your criminal record, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Angela says, cautiously. “It was included as part of your application.”

“It—yeah. So uh—so you know, then.”

“I am aware, yes.”

Jamie searches her eyes like he’s trying to gauge her reaction, and Angela wonders if perhaps this subject was a mistake after all. His criminal record isn’t something she thought they would be discussing today, nor is it something she particularly wants to discuss in general. It feels like a piece of Jamie’s past rather than his present, a life she wants to believe he’s left behind.

But Jamie’s criminality is also still a part of him, however much she wishes it wasn’t. She can’t just refuse to acknowledge it.

Angela shuffles closer to him and rests her hands over his thigh, because even though it’s difficult hearing about his past it’s probably even more difficult for him to discuss it. Jamie lays his one flesh hand on top of hers, exhaling.

“Sooo... Me n’Roadie got up to some pretty nasty shit, to put it lightly. Notorious, we were. And I’m gonna tell you right now, Angie, before y’start—having a go or lecturing me, I can’t take back any of what I did.”

Jamie pauses on an alarmingly wistful sounding sigh. He grabs his empty glass to tilt it this way and that in his metal hand.

“And I don’t wanna take it back either, ‘cause you have no idea how fucking FUN it was living that life,” Jamie says, in a reminiscent tone that has Angela leaning slightly away from him. This definitely isn’t going anywhere good.

“No deadlines. No meetings. No corporate fuckarsing around. Just me and the big guy, stealing gold and blowing shit up. _Bliss._ ”

“Okay,” Angela says, removing her hands from his thigh, because why is Jamie telling her this? Doesn’t he realise it’s the last thing she wants to hear?

“Now, I didn’t know much about Overwatch at the time,” Jamie says, eyes still focused on his glass, “but I’d certainly heard about it. Knew it was a big fucking deal when their rep got into contact with us, asking for an interview, saying they had something to offer.” Jamie’s voice darkens when he adds, “And I said to Roadie, I reckon we could be onto something, here.”

Already connecting the dots, Angela presses a hand to her chest in an attempt to stifle the panicked racing of her heart.  Jamie notices her distress and puts his glass down.

“Uh. Babe, look, it isn’t—”

“Did you join Overwatch as a cover?” Angela asks, blurting it out.

“A cover?” Jamie arches an eyebrow at her in confusion. “Huh? For what?”

Angela’s breathing quickens. She doesn’t want to believe it could be true, doesn’t want to even entertain the idea of it, but given Jamie’s past and how he’s bragging about it she isn’t sure what else it could be.

“For—I don’t know, some evil plot to—to attack London! Or Overwatch!”

Jamie’s jaw drops. In her panic, Angela starts babbling.

“Please don’t tell me it was blowing up headquarters, or Buckingham Palace, or—”

“Woah woah woah!” Jamie says, almost laughing it even though he’s scowling at her. He grabs her hands, and a flicker of hurt pinches his eyebrows when Angela flinches. “Jesus, Ange, calm down! I didn’t come here to try and do some inside job!”

“You—you didn’t?” Angela asks, bristling when he shakes her hands in answer.

“No! I mean, okay, maybe I was a liiiiiittle tempted to see what I could get away with at the start but—”

“So it _was_ the reason why!” Angela cries, wrenching her hands away, but Jamie immediately snatches them back.

“No it bloody wasn’t!” Jamie says, and it’s an enormous relief that he sounds so hurt by her accusation, because she’d all but convinced herself that was where this was going.

“I said I was tempted to! TEMPTED! Then we had our induction, and I realised it wasn’t worth the hassle when I basically needed Winston’s written permission and six billion security codes just to go and take a fucking piss!”

Despite herself Angela bleats a laugh at this, and Jamie’s pinched expression softens.

“Christ, babe! Why’d I wanna risk doing anything now that I’ve got you?”

“I—but we weren’t together at the start,” Angela says, timidly. “I… I want to know why you _joined._ ”

“It. Ugh.”

Jamie avoids her eyes—seems to be looking at anything but her—and Angela notices that his face has gone a bit red.

Almost like he’s… embarrassed?

No, he can’t be. It was what she assumed at the beginning, but if he’s so proud of his criminality Angela knows it’s naïve to think that Jamie’s reasons for joining Overwatch could be to better himself or change the course of his life. And yet, given his reaction… given the Jamie sitting in front of her, who she’s come to know so well…

“Was it… was it because you were reconsidering?” Angela asks him, hopefully. “I know that you’re—that you don’t regret it, but was it something like that? Like maybe you wanted to try and give back to the community?”

“What?! Fuck no, that’s even worse!” Jamie sputters, but the fact that he’s so flustered by it leads Angela to believe she’s on the right track.

“Is it because you secretly _did_ want to change??”

“Fuck’s sake, Angie, I joined Overwatch because they offered me a bloody pardon! Alright!” Jamie snaps, snatching his hands out of hers. Angela blinks at him.

“A pardon?”

“Yeah! A pardon! A fuckin’—get outta jail free card!” Jamie huffs, shoving his back against the booth. “And I took it, like a bloody chicken!”

“What. I don’t.”

Angela stares at him but apparently Jamie is too humiliated to face her, scowling at the window instead. The lines of his smiley face have dripped down to the windowpane.

“Providing we signed their contract and worked under ‘em for a year, Overwatch said they’d lift all my visa bans across the Commonwealth and write off a buncha small charges,” Jamie mutters. “Then, three years down the line, they’d extend it so it covered everywhere else, and write off the rest’a my record. Clean slate, or whatever.”

“I… I didn’t realise Overwatch had that sort of power?”

“Me neither,” Jamie laughs, though it’s a hollow sound. “Think there’s a lot we don’t realise about ‘em. But hey, guess they wanted to fight fire with fire, seein’ as they brought criminals on board to deal with terrorists, so.”

Angela gives Jamie’s bicep a gentle shake until he faces her. He’s still scowling.

“Why… if you were so unashamed of what you were doing, why would you accept that?” Angela asks, quietly, because it’s the only part of it she doesn’t quite understand.

“’Kay, now I have NO SHAME admitting that I got myself a very nice, very FORMIDABLE reputation!” Jamie barks, wagging a finger at her. “But as it turns out, being a HIGHLY DANGEROUS and wanted criminal ain’t all that— _sustainable_. The world becomes a very small place when y’can’t go anywhere without wanted posters all over the shop and arrest warrants on your tail!”

Jamie puffs out a sigh.

“And I was _sick_ of tryin’a hide all the time,” he says, with sagging shoulders. “Can’t do subtlety to save my life, Ange, you know me. Fuckin’ awful at it!”

“I—yes, you are,” Angela says softly, deciding against adding that she’s very glad he is.

“So, yeah. Sorry I ain’t the noble hero you probably have in your head,” Jamie says, grumbling. “But that’s why I joined.”

“Gosh. I don’t know what I expected, really, but I’m—I’m glad that that was your motivation.”  She tugs on his sleeve, offering him a smile. “And you know you’re still _my_ hero.”

Jamie briefly smiles back at her, something embarrassed rather than a full on grin, and somehow Angela is more reassured by it than by anything else he’s said.

“Yeah, well. Was planning on a year tops, if I could stick it that long, ‘cause it meant I’d be able to go back to Straya n’get around a bit easier.”

“Oh?” Angela wiggles along the booth, until she’s pressed into his side. “Just a year?”

“Ehhhh,” Jamie says, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “S’what I was _planning_ …”

“Surely you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Dunno,” Jamie says casually, smirking at her. “Depends what you can offer me.”

“Hmm.” Angela paws at the front of his hoodie. “Myself, perhaps?”

“Ooooooh,” he says, a thrillingly pleased sound. “So you’d be all mine, wouldja?”

“Only if you stay,” she says, losing her breath as Jamie leans in close.

“Then I reckon that might just about suffice,” he says, before kissing her. It’s soft and sweet until he laps into her mouth, and then she can taste the coke on his tongue, tips her head slightly to taste more.

Angela smiles against his lips, hands clutched in Jamie’s hoodie while they kiss. She was sure he was leading into something truly horrendous, but Jamie joining Overwatch for a pardon is probably the best and most understandable reason Angela could think of. An escape from his criminal life, or perhaps an underlying sense of morality kicking in, even if Jamie doesn’t view at as such—even if he’s ashamed of it.

“Y’know,” Jamie says, stroking some of Angela’s bangs out of her face when he pulls back. “What’s _really_ funny is that Talon wanted me, too.”

“Is this some way of clawing back your credibility?” Angela teases, thinking he’s joking as she reaches for her wine.

“Nope! They musta got wind that the _notorious Junkrat_ was mullin’ over a deal with the devil, ‘cause one’a their reps contacted us juuuust after we heard from Overwatch!”

“Wait.” Angela leans away from him, something cold dropping in her stomach. “You’re not… being serious, are you?”

“Bein’ deadly serious! Done a few jobs for ‘em before after all,” Jamie says, with a bewildering note of pride.

He must notice how Angela’s eyes widen at this, the way she freezes up, because Jamie immediately waves his hands at her like he always does whenever he’s attempting damage control.

“Oookay, so I’ve never worked _directly_ for Talon, was just for a guy who knew a guy! Sorta deal!”

“Oh my god, I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to deal with this,” Angela whimpers, mostly to herself. She was _just_ feeling reassured about this whole—Jamie sort of gaining a sense of morality thing, and now he’s bringing Talon into the equation? Is having one simple date with this man really so much to ask?!

“Babe, I was only—”

“What did they want when they contacted you?” Angela asks, so curtly that Jamie jolts back.

“Wha—Who, Talon? Oh, heh, you’ll love this! They wanted me to be a double agent for ‘em!” His voice breaks on a squeaky laugh. “Me! A _double agent!_ Can you IMAGINE?!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Angela whines, bracing her elbows on the table and her head in both hands. “Please tell me you said no to them!”

“’Course I said no!” Jamie says, looking at Angela as though she’s grown a second head. “Might as well announce my presence with a megaphone every bloody time I try and sneak back into Junkertown, y’think I’d be anymore capable of sneaking around HQ?! I bet you a million bucks her royal highness would be on me like a tonna bricks if she even got a _whiff_ of me fucking around with Talon!”

Angela wants to believe it’s good that Jamie is laughing about this, aloof and casual and passing it off as nothing. Like he hasn’t just announced that he was contacted by a terrorist organisation—by _the_ terrorist organization that Overwatch has been fighting since its inception.

“Pleeeease, baby, don’t be like this!” Jamie says, an edge of panic to it as he shakes her shoulder. “I’ve just told you the whole point of me even joining Overwatch was because I was so dogshit at hiding!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Angela says weakly, managing a hesitant smile at him. Jamie’s grin back at her seems more confident than placating.

“Only toldja ‘cause I thought you’d get a laugh out of it, like I did! Besides, you _know_ I said no to ‘em. Isn’t like I’m off doing super secret spy shit every evening, is it? Only thing I’m doing is _you!_ ”

Angela can’t help laughing at this. “If it keeps you out of Talon’s hands, then please, continue doing me.”

“Believe me, I ABSOLUTELY intend to! Now stop worrying and c’mere!”

Jamie gathers her into his arms. Angela gratefully sinks into him, exhaling into his hoodie as he kisses the top of her head. Overwatch follow a stringent application process with new employees, and it’s true that the team—not just Lena—would be aware if anything was amiss. As far as Angela knows, Jamie’s performance during his employment has been fine so far despite the window incident, and he proved himself on the Japan mission when he swept in and saved her. He's an excellent candidate for a second chance in her eyes.

Aside from that, Angela doesn’t think Jamie would lie to her, either. She certainly _hopes_ he wouldn’t. Everything he’s said and all of his reactions feel genuine. And, exhausting though it may be, Angela is admittedly quite happy that Jamie has felt comfortable enough to tell her all of this. More of himself that he’s sharing with her, even if it’s tough to process.

Sufficiently calmed by Jamie’s embrace, Angela extracts herself to grab her wine and take a long, long gulp of it.

“We all good?” he asks her hopefully. When her glass is empty, Angela nods.

“I think that’s enough about work for tonight. At least, not until I’ve had more alcohol.” She pauses, then adds, “I can’t believe I was actually right, though.”

“Oh aye? What about?”

“About the ‘notorious Junkrat’ wanting to change after all.”

Jamie squints at her.

“Now look here, missy, don’t you go gettin’ the wrong idea about me!” he huffs. Angela can tell that he’s trying not to smile because he always does such a terrible job of it, lips curling at the edges despite his stern eyes. “I’m still a dangerous criminal y’know!”

“Oh yes.”

“Who’s dashingly handsome!”

“Incredibly.”

“And has a HUGE dick!”

“The biggest. But, you know,” Angela says, with a sly grin, “you’re still my sweet little mouse, too.”

“Rrrrrgh, y’know I don’t like it when y’call me that,” Jamie grumbles, with his mouth curving into a grudging smile. Angela leans across to his ear.

“Is it any better if I call you my _mausi?_ ”

“Woah!” Jamie jerks away from her with wide eyes. “Wuh—was that German??”

“Yes. Do you like it when I speak German for you?” Angela asks, in German again. Jamie pretends to wipe sweat off his brow.

“Phew, okay, no word of a lie, whatever you just said went STRAIGHT to my dick.”

“Really? I only asked if you liked it!”

“Oohhh, well uh, I dunno! Reckon you could whisper something dirty in my ear, so uh, so I can make an informed decision?!”

“I will definitely need more alcohol for that.” Angela stands from the table and grabs her card wallet again. “Speaking of which, I’m going to get us another round. I think we’ve earned it.”

“Haaaah, alright! Get us some chips too, will ya?” Jamie asks, giving her puppy dog eyes. “M’gettin’ hungry!”

“Of course,” Angela says, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. He beams at her.

“Ta babe!”

Good lord, Angela thinks, feeling exhausted as she slouches at the bar. She knew her first date with Jamie was going to be special, but she didn’t think it was going to be _this_ special.

Waiting on her order of chips, Angela glances at him from over her shoulder. He’s on his phone, tapping it and grinning to himself. It’s still hard to reconcile the sweet man sitting there with someone capable of everything she saw in his file, everything he’s just told her. But Angela believes that anyone has the capacity to change when given the right support, and it seems clear to her that the Junkrat running from arrest warrants isn’t quite the same Junkrat who rescued her in Japan.

Nor is he the Jamie she goes to bed with at night. So long as he’s honest with her, that’s all that really matters to her right now. Angela would rather focus on their present rather than his past.

“Phwooooar!” Jamie says, rubbing his hands together as she returns to the table with more drinks and a big styrofoam box. “Whatja get??”

“A large portion of chips with cheese.”

“Niiiice!”

Jamie pops the box open. He declines the little wooden fork Angela offers and dunks his hand straight in.

“You ever tried ‘em with gravy?”

“I haven’t, but you should know that I will _always_ go with cheese when given a choice.”

“You Swish like your cheesh then?” Jamie asks, with his mouth full of chips. Angela cringes.

“Generally. Fondue is Swiss, and we also have something called raclette.”

“Washat?”

“I’ll show you.”

Jamie swallows and swoops in close, chin over her shoulder to watch the video on Angela’s phone. It’s a waiter holding up an enormous half-wheel of cheese, and he starts scraping a big melted pile of it onto someone’s plate.

“The fuck? That’s a Swiss thing?!”

“It is indeed.” Angela turns to him, grinning at his awed look. “I’ll have to find somewhere that does it so we can go out for dinner.”

“So I can lie down and have it scraped all over my face more like!”

Understandably, the video exacerbates Jamie’s appetite. He demolishes the chips in minutes with the assistance of Angela poking her fork in every now and again between sips of more wine. Apparently, to ensure he gets a 'successful-date-fuck' tonight , he googled _questions to ask on a first date_ while she was waiting on their food and puts his phone on the table so they can scroll through together. As Jamie begins picking out the silliest questions for them to answer, this, right here, is precisely what Angela has wanted: to be tucked away with him in some cosy corner, drinking without worry on a weeknight and laughing too loud at his ridiculous responses.

He orders them another round of drinks, and then another after that. Eventually they stop answering questions in favour of making out, unashamedly, right here in the pub. Their table littered with empty glasses, Jamie is mostly sober even though his cheeks are pink and he’s leaning back in the corner of the booth, legs spread and arms slung along the back of it. Angela is draped over him, tipsy but not enough to feel swampy—just enough to feel warmed all over and desperate to lavish him with affection, with all the snuggles and kisses she’s been saving for this very date.

Jamie’s phone has long since idled out, left forgotten on the table. Being able to make out with him is pure bliss after having to ignore him today but what’s even better is doing so without inhibition, or worrying about who might see them, or how sloppy their kisses have turned. Angela can’t seem to keep her hands off him, wants to sit in his lap and melt into him right here in the pub. But it isn’t her fault that Jamie is so strong and warm, that he’s kissing her hungrily, greedily, like there’s still some wicked part of him, Junkrat trying to steal Mercy away.

“Jesus,” Jamie says, breathing it out when they finally part. “You alright?”

“Of course I am,” Angela purrs. “Are you?”

“Got this drunken fuckin’ goddess sticking her tongue down my throat, so yeah, I’d say I’m peachy!”

“I’m not drunk,” Angela says, brushing her nose over his. “Well, only a little. Maybe. Is that bad?”

“Oh yeah. Dreadful. And on a weeknight as well,” Jamie says, tutting. There’s something decidedly smug about his grin at her, like he’s enjoying seeing her like this, the effect he’s having on her. Angela presses on his abs to push herself up.

“Entirely your influence,” she says airily, before gasping as Jamie hooks his metal fingers in the front of her blouse to yank her back to him.

“Should I be sorry?” he leers. “‘Cause I’m not. Not even one little bit.”

“I—I don’t want you to be.”

“Good.” Jamie’s eyes are lowered, flitting down her neck and exposed chest before meeting hers again. “Gonna hafta send you to bed early for this.”

Angela wets her lips, before leaning in close to his ear and dragging her hand down further, until she’s feeling out his crotch.

“Then why don't you take me home now and put me to bed yourself,” she says, as Jamie physically shudders in response.

“Ooooohhhh, you dirty, _dirty_ girl. Alright then.”

Jamie downs the rest of his last cider and then he’s dragging Angela up with him, waiting until she's steady before letting go and tugging his jacket on. She thought she wasn’t that tipsy but she wobbles while reaching for her coat, needs a second to adjust from moving away from the luxurious warmth of Jamie’s hoodied body. He surprises her by brandishing a black umbrella from beneath the table

“How have you managed to be more prepared than I am?” Angela says, as they shimmy out of the booth.

“Nicked it off one’a the grads!” Jamie says, laughing as she rounds on him with a dismayed gasp. “Yeeees, dear, I’ll make sure he gets it back tomorrow!”

She doesn’t tell him so, but Angela is actually quite grateful for the borrowed umbrella as they stumble out of the pub and head to the nearest underground station because it’s still raining heavily outside. She likes it, though, now that her hand is in Jamie’s and he’s holding an umbrella over their heads. The air is thick and freezing cold around them, streetlamps lining their way and cutting through the mist like spotlights. It’s cold enough to help her sober up a little, focusing on her breath clouding more than the blurred edges of her vision.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get a taxi instead?” Angela asks, tugging Jamie’s hand. “You’re limping more than usual.”

“Ah, yeah, no worries,” Jamie says, putting on a big smile even though he’s been wincing. “S’cause it’s so cold n’wet out, makes it hurt a little.”

“Have you considered investing in something warmer than shorts?”

“You expecting me to start wearing jeans or something? I’d look like a fucking dickhead!”

“No you wouldn’t! I could try and alter them for you.” Angela hums. “You know… the alternative is upgrading your prosthetic leg.”

“Hah!” Jamie says, jigging her hand. “Thanks but no thanks, babe!”

“Well, if you’re happy like this,” Angela says, sighing. They’ve already had an eventful evening so there’s no way she’s going to press the subject. Still, she wishes he’d at least think about it, now that the Overwatch cybernetics should be issue-free after her patch.

There’s a supermarket as they approach the underground station. Angela stops to peer inside at the illuminated aisles.

“Can we go in? I’m making a gratin tomorrow so I need to pick up some ingredients for it.”

“Sure, but how the hell are ya still this organised when you’re half cut?!”

“I’ve sobered up a bit. Also, we need to go in anyway because I think we’re out of condoms,” Angela says, tapping her chin. In the short time they’ve been together they’ve somehow managed to get through two whole boxes, which seems unbelievable when Angela is sure she still has leftover condoms from university in some of her unpacked storage containers.

Jamie blinks at her.

“We are?”

“You know we are,” Angela says, with a wry smile. Jamie tilts his head at her, frowning.

“Thought y’said you were on that pill thing now."

“I am, but it hasn’t been seven days yet so I’m not protected.”

“Oh c’mon, y’know I’m clean!” Jamie says, affronted and loudly and jerking the umbrella above them. Angela shushes him.

“Ironically, yes, but—I don’t want to risk.” She gestures vaguely at her belly. “You know.”

“What?”

“Um,” Angela says, because isn’t it obvious? She sneaks a look over her shoulders before facing Jamie again with an embarrassed smile. She drops her voice when she says, “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

Jamie’s eyes go wide. Then his eyebrows draw together, and he laughs, nervously, letting go of her hand to scratch his neck.

“Shit, that’s. You really think that could happen, with me?”

“Yes? Especially with how much…we’ve…” Angela says, trailing off from the sad smile Jamie’s giving her.

“Babe, uh. Hate to break it to ya but I’m… from the outback? Y’know, irradiated wasteland?”

“Oh,” Angela says, because—of course. How could she forget? The explosion, the fallout, the long-lasting physical effects it would’ve had regardless of the medication provided afterwards. His hair and his eyes and... and all the other ailments.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s eyes flick down to the space between them, a circle of pavement with rain falling around it. Then he’s aiming that sad smile at her, again. “Pretty damn sure I’m firing blanks, here.”

Uselessly, Angela opens and closes her mouth. Somehow she feels winded by this even though it’s—it’s obvious, really, something she should’ve thought about weeks ago. She just hadn’t considered that despite the modern medicine he’s had, Jamie could very well be, no, probably _is_ infertile. Didn’t even register, even though it should’ve now that they’re—that they’ve—

“God, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t even—”

“Hey hey, s’alright, don’t bother me!” Jamie says quickly, like he’s afraid of upsetting her with it. “Just—sorry if it’s something you, uh.” He hesitates, looking down at the pavement. He pokes it with his pegleg. “Fuck. I dunno.”

Angela’s eyes dart around them, a hot-cold rush of something unidentifiable coursing through her. Are they really having this conversation right now? Here, in—in the pouring rain, some street in some area she doesn’t know?

“It—it makes no difference to me,” Angela says, this vague breath that comes out automatically. But it doesn’t, does it? It shouldn’t matter at all. “I’m just… Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

“Like I said, doesn’t bother me,” Jamie says, simply. “Not a lot I can do about it.”

Chewing her lip, Angela instantly and intensely wishes she’d specialised in sexual health and reproduction, or maybe in the effects of radiation on fertility, so that she had some research ready, something to say otherwise. But Jamie is smiling at her, not sadly anymore. The sort of smile that’s asking her to let it go.

Rain patters on the umbrella. Angela holds his eyes. How can he be so accepting of this?

“Look, if it makes ya feel better of course I’ll get more condoms,” Jamie says. “No skin off my back. Or er. Dick, I s’pose.”

His grin encourages a small laugh from her. God, they’ve only been dating a month. Pregnancy, children—they’re not even on Angela’s radar. Nowhere near, in fact.

Of course it doesn’t matter.

“Alright,” Angela says, mustering a smile for him. “But I think—I think you should get tested. Your sperm count, I mean. Have you?”

“Nah, never. Will do though.”

Jamie takes Angela’s hand. He lifts it up and kisses the flat of it.

“Anything to keep the missus happy,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“It isn’t for me,” Angela says, softly. “It’s for you.”

“I know. C’mon, let’s get our shit and go home.”

Jamie pulls them towards the store, only to stop abruptly and stare back at her. Angela tenses. Please don't say there's something else he's going to—

“Hang about! S’this mean we can finally do bareback next week?!” he asks, with all the excitement of a kid at Christmas. Angela groans, letting go of his hand only to have it immediately grabbed back into both of his, like he’s begging her, the umbrella swinging overhead and spattering her with rain.  

“Holy fucking shit, Angie, please tell me we can do bareback! PLEASE! IT’LL BE AN AUSTRALIAN FONDUE!”

“Pfffft! Okay okay yes, we can, just _please_ keep your voice down!” Angela says hurriedly, as Jamie’s entire face lights up. She’s uncomfortably aware of the amused stares coming from people leaving the store. “But only if you’re good!”

“Oh, you make no mistake, I will be on my _best_ fucking behaviour for that,” Jamie says, an almost chillingly determined growl. Then he straightens up, and proclaims to the world, “AUSSIE FONDUUUUUE!!”

“Dear _god_ ,” Angela laughs, shaking her head as Jamie pulls her with him into the supermarket. _Honestly!_

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! In light of the conversation they've just had, I wanted to point something out without revealing any spoilers, as I feel it's important.
> 
> This story is about the development of their relationship and exploring subjects that come up as part of being in a relationship generally. However, I have no intention of going into the complex topic of fertility issues in BoM, so it will not be a part of BoM's plot. They will have plenty to deal with in upcoming chapters, without that.
> 
> Also, I know that Mercy's use of "Mausi" should have a capitalised M as per German language capitalization of nouns! But, after discussing it with Sneepy who is my source for all things German, I've kept it lower case purely for the sake of consistency with other petnames used thus far!
> 
> Thank you to [Sneepy](http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com) for betaing this for me!! <3


End file.
